Next-Door Nemesis(38)
If you look around, a lot of white men in the industry will tell you they’re struggling to find work because studios are only wanting diversity. However, if you only look a layer deeper, you’ll realize that’s not true at all. Sure, it may be easier for me to get a meeting, but a meeting isn’t the same thing as a green light and funding.
Inevitably, someone would tell me that they couldn’t relate to my messy biracial heroine. It was like she could either be funny and white or troubled and Black. I could never wrap my head around that, why characters of color couldn’t have a full existence and problems that weren’t always about their race. Like, how are they spending millions of dollars on dragon stories rife with assault, but the successful Black woman leaning into her ho phase is too risky?
“After a few of my scripts fell to the wayside because they weren’t relatable enough, Peter thought to add his name to the script. At the time, it felt like a great idea. Having him take a few meetings and showing that it was already white-man approved would help skip over a few obstacles. But adding his name to this script was all he did. The concept, the characters, the dialogue, that was all me.”
“Oh fuck.” Nate grimaces. “I think I see where this is going and it’s not good.”
“Bet you ten dollars it’s worse than you’re thinking.” I offer my hand.
Nate shakes it with wide eyes and his brows nearly touching his hairline. “That bad?”
“Oh yeah.” It was an actual nightmare. I still wake up in a cold sweat some nights. “So as I’m sure you can see very clearly, when Peter took the show out and pitched it, he didn’t only add his name; he erased mine. Something he didn’t tell me until I was driving home from work and started getting text messages from writers who knew the title of the show, asking if the good news was true.”
Nate’s face twists and his shoulders stiffen like he’s bracing for impact.
“I was so excited when I saw the news that I didn’t notice my name was missing or wonder why I was seeing this on the internet instead of hearing about it from my boyfriend, agent, or literally anybody.” I still get angry at myself for being so naive. There were a million clues and I ignored them all. “I drove to the liquor store and splurged on the best bottle of champagne I could find. I mean, I had a paycheck coming in. I could afford it, right?”
WRONG.
“I got home, lit some candles, put the champagne on ice, maybe had a shot of tequila or two—”
“Collins, no.” Nate groans. “Even I know you don’t handle tequila well.”
“Hey! That was one time and I didn’t know how to handle my liquor yet. Plus, you know those kids were hogging the swings. If they would’ve just gotten off the third time I asked we wouldn’t have had any problems.”
I mean really. Children are assholes; it’s a universal truth. You lose your temper with them one time and people never let you live it down.
“Anyways.” I level him with a pointed stare and continue with the story. “I finally sit down and pull up the deal announcement. And wouldn’t you know it? My name is nowhere to be found. The entire announcement lauded Peter Hanson as this longtime screenwriter who’s written for some of television’s best shows and is finally ready to run a writing room of his own. They credited this thirty-something white man for a coming-of-age story about a Black woman.
“I was still telling myself it was a mistake when he came home. We’d been dating for years. We lived together. We loved each other. No way would my boyfriend do this to me.” I tend to think in terms of worst-case scenarios, but this was outside the realm of even my imagination. “I figured it was all a misunderstanding. So imagine my shock when I brought this up to him when he walked in and he said—and this is a direct quote—‘When I open up applications for the writers’ room, I’m going to look at yours first.’?”
“No, he didn’t.” The absolute horror in Nate’s voice would be enough to make me laugh if this story didn’t make me want to burst into tears all over again.
“Yup.” I nod, confirming that Peter Hanson does, in fact, have more audacity than any other human on the planet. “Then, when I got rightfully furious hearing this news, he told me I was overreacting. That was not the right thing to say.” I tell him something I’m sure any rational human with a brain knows. “And I’m not sure if you remember this about me or not, but I don’t tend to handle these situations all that well.”
“What? You? A temper? Never!” The sarcasm is so heavy, I can practically see it dripping from the corners of his mouth.
“Okay, okay. Settle down, now, Se?or Realtor.” I roll my eyes and bite back the smile I didn’t think would be possible while telling this story. “We wouldn’t want to let people know you have a sense of humor and ruin your reputation.”
“Excuse me!” He rests his hands on his hips and I don’t want to admit it, but he is giving big zaddy energy in those khakis. “I’ll have you know that Mrs. Morris thinks I’m hilarious. She spends the majority of our walks in stitches.”
“That’s not the defense you think it is,” I tell him. “But yeah, if there was a right way to handle this situation, I did the opposite of that. I grabbed the unopened bottle of two-hundred-dollar champagne and left.”