Page 7 of How To Plot a Payback

“There are plenty of writers on the team—”

“You were the change.”

Another lengthy silence ensues.

“It’s her!” I hear someone hiss in another conversation.

Heads turn toward the side of the house, where windows illuminate the valet in the circular driveway outside. For a moment, I’m tempted to turn my attention away.

“And that,” Mr. Goodwin continues, “is why I want to talk to you. Word on the street is that you are looking for new employment.”

My chest tightens.

“I’m not sure where you got that information,” I say evasively.

I’ve been careful to only speak to a couple of people.

If my boss found out, I would be sacked on the spot.

“There’s Lavender!” somebody cries out.

People begin to move, some slowly, others throwing care and reputation to the wind and rushing in heels with sloshing champagne glasses. Several are taking out their phones. Even the employees clutching leaflets and dogs have made their way outside. Paula, I realize, is no longer beside us.

The room is rapidly emptying but for Goodwin and myself.

I have to tread lightly here.

“What are you hinting at, sir?” I say.

“My supervising producer stepped down last week.” He plucks a dog hair off his otherwise impeccable suit. “She decided to”—there’s a slight hesitation—“take a sabbatical.”

I fight a tilt of my brow.

Goodwin is using the term sabbatical pretty loosely. It’s no secret he’s a workhorse and runs the writers room behind his decade-long sitcom with a perfectionist’s eye. Last we heard, Carrie Suja sold all her belongings, including her phone and laptop, purchased a camper van, and now is swerving along the mountainous roads of Colorado with a rabbit in her lap and mushroom tea in hand.

But sure. Sabbatical works too.

“If you’re up for the job, I could use you.”

And there it was.

Out of the blue, the offer of a lifetime. Not to the lowest rungs of the biggest sitcom in history but as producer. The offer I’d been dreaming of, at my fingertips.

“You want me to join Neighbors . . . as supervising producer.”

“The rest of the team is adequate to their jobs—”

Adequate? The show has seventy-five Emmy nominations and twelve wins. Each writer on that team could take my job tomorrow, just sweep it right out from under me if they asked.

“—but the reality is,” he continues, then pauses as if deciding whether he really wants to say this aloud. Apparently, what he’s about to say is important enough to risk sharing with a total stranger. “We’ve been on air a long time. America can only handle watching their favorite TV couple repeat a cycle of dating then breaking up for absurd reasons for so long before they give up.”

I begin to shake my head. I know what he’s saying, but Neighbors is a legend. The cast in some measure is on every cover of everything I see in print at any point, any day.

He puts up a hand, halting me. “Nobody’s seeing it yet. But ratings have plateaued.”

Yes. At the top.

“The writers are blaming it on the holidays. Or saying inane things like, ‘Neighbors is on top. There’s nowhere to go.’”