Chapter Text
First day of shooting, and she was nervous. Not completely unusual, but she hadn't expected to feel this way. It was a simple role, and she'd prepared, as always.
To try to understand the feeling, she asked herself why. Was it because she hadn’t been working lately? It had been a while since she’d done a series... The last one was—what?—the one with Reese Witherspoon and Nicole Kidman.
She finished makeup, grabbed her lines, and headed to the set, where they were already filming.
Was it because the show was already a hit? Because the trio had such a great dynamic?
Where would she fit in?
Was that what was making her nervous?
Well, she is who she is. Surely, they’ll make room for her. And she had worked with Steve Martin before. She liked him. He was fun, he was polite.
Selena Gomez seemed like a darling. She'd been so starstruck at the SAG Awards.
Oh! Better not to think about the Shag Awards. She’d thought about that night so many times. No—not here at the studio. Not when she was already nervous enough. Block that thought, Meryl!
Marty. Marty is so funny. Damn! That feeling again. Was working with him what was making her nervous? Is that it?
Nooo. You're being silly, Meryl.
Everyone on set welcomes her warmly. Big smiles, kisses, and hugs all around. Steve stops by just to say hi, and John—a dear—hugs her tightly.
"Hi! Thank you. You’re all very kind. Thank you for having me here on your wonderful show. I’m such a fan!"
“Well, Meryl, we’re all just honored to have you here. We’re just waiting for Marty to show up. He must be finishing makeup or something,” John laughs, wondering where Marty is—he's usually early.
Marty. Where is Marty?
He’s finished dressing. Finished makeup. Knows his lines. Still in his dressing room... calming his nerves.
There’s a strange feeling in his stomach, like he’s about to take the bar exam.
But he doesn’t have to wonder why. He knows.
It’s her.
The one thing he wanted most, all these years—it’s finally happening. He’s working with Meryl Streep.
It feels unreal. Feels surreal. And it's making him freeze.
He’s always had a crush on her. That’s okay, right? Everyone has a celebrity crush. It's harmless, because it's never going to happen.
Sure, he’s a celebrity too, but she’s in a league of her own. Untouchable.
They’ve met before. Been at events together. Sat next to each other at the Diane Keaton thing. God, he made her laugh like crazy that night. And she was funny as hell too. He hadn’t known she was that funny.
Every time, he got a little nervous. He wanted to do well, to seem at ease... but she always got to him.
That aura.
Unreachable.
A sweet, funny, effortlessly cool woman—still, unreachable.
And now, here they are. He’s doing a hit show. She’s coming in to play his love interest.
He has to get out there. They must be expecting him by now.
He arrives on set.
“Hi, hi. I’m sorry—I got a call I couldn’t end, although I really tried.”
Meryl’s back is slightly turned, but when she turns to face him and greet him, she gives him the sweetest smile and a soft, drawn-out, “Hiiiii.”
So Meryl. So warm. God, her face is spectacular.
She gives him a small kiss on the cheek.
“So, are we ready?” John Hoffman calls out to the crew.
The scene is at a piano. Nothing complicated—no big monologues, just light dialogue.
As soon as the camera starts rolling, they both calm down. Their experience surfaces. It’s always easier to play someone else—to not have to deal with their own feelings.
Cut. Scene’s done.
“Okay... so my nerves are now down to half,” she says with a nervous, funny laugh.
She was nervous? Marty is surprised. To work with me? Meryl Streep was nervous to work with me. Wow.
That puts Marty more at ease—her admitting that.
“Really? Wow… not me… I’ve just been awake since 2 a.m.… not that that indicates anything.”
They both laugh.
And slowly, the nerves start to melt away.
Out with the nerves. In with the laughter.
Over the next few days, Marty keeps her laughing constantly. She loves working on this set. She feels free—able to talk about anything, sing, dance, be silly... be herself, all the time.
And it feels so good.
Marty makes everyone laugh, but with Meryl, it’s more than that. He’s attentive. Thoughtful.
She, of course, notices everything.
She loves observing people—it’s one of her techniques when building a character. And she can tell Marty is different around her. Not just in the way everyone treats her a little differently. No, it’s something else.
He’s always checking in—asking if she needs anything. By now, he even knows exactly how she likes her coffee... and what she likes to eat. He listens…everything she says. Really listens.
And that feels amazing.
Even his voice changes when they’re alone. It’s calmer. More grounded. More... what is it? More sure of himself. Not cocky—never that. And she likes that.
Meryl! She pulls herself out of thoughts about Martin Short.
Again.
She’d been watching him, wondering about him. Sitting with her legs crossed, feet dangling, biting her lip and her index finger... just wondering.
MERYL! She mentally shouts at herself, louder this time. Stop it.
There’s also the kiss scene. It’s today.
She’s been thinking about it since she went to bed last night. Just a staged kiss, of course. But still—a kiss. His lips on her lips.
Ever since Marty read in the script that he was going to kiss Meryl, his stomach had turned upside down. Sure, of course he'd have to kiss his love interest. But seeing it on paper for the first time—it got to him.
On OMITB, actors don’t always know what happens across all 10 episodes. The writers adapt, tweak, rewrite as filming progresses. And John is really excited about this storyline between Oliver and Loretta, so they really don’t know where he’s going.
Kiss. Back to the kiss.
He’s going to kiss her.
These past few weeks have been a dream. Meryl is a dream. So professional—he already knew that—but also so funny, so beautiful... and sexy. Every time she walks into the room, he can’t help but smile. She dances. She sings. She takes his breath away and makes his heart beat faster.
He doesn’t stop to wonder why. He doesn’t want to wonder.
It’s like a conversation between two versions of himself: one that’s falling hard for Meryl Streep, and the other—desperately—trying not to, because she’ll never fall for him.
Yet… he’s caught her looking at him.
Sometimes she looks away quickly.
Other times... she keeps looking. Until he blushes. And she smiles.
Why is she doing that?
They’re called to set. They’d rehearsed, as they do with every scene—but hadn’t actually kissed yet.
Action!
The lines leading up to the kiss fly.
“Oh my God, I could kiss you.”
And he does.
It’s the first time she feels his lips... the warmth of his skin... the scent of his cologne as it lingers in her hair. It’s quick.
Second take.
Softer.
This time, she feels more—his embrace, his hand on her back. He holds her tightly.
That night, when she goes to bed, she can still smell his cologne on her.
She takes a deep breath and smiles.
She’s taking him to bed with her—in a way. She buries her face in the pillow and laughs at the thought. Silly, maybe. But real.
Marty can only think of her. Not the kiss, exactly—he just pressed his lips to hers. Harshly on the first take, softer on the second.
But she’d looked at his lips before the kiss. And she kept looking at them—at him—after “Cut.”
She even parted her lips.
God, she’s sexy.
Her.
He can’t stop thinking about her. The way she moves, the way she dresses...
Meryl in Loretta’s jeans? It sent him to space.
When she wraps for the day and changes back into her own clothes, he can’t help but admire her. From top to bottom.
Fuck, she’s so hot.
And of course, she knows he’s looking.
The ferry scene... and other scenes... done.
The theatre scenes are next.
Things have changed.
The nervousness has been replaced by closeness. And that closeness has grown... into flirting.
And flirting—that’s so much more fun.
The energy, the chemistry, the sexual tension—it’s all there. On fire.
The days on set fly by. But the weekends? Soooo long... because they’re not together.
Every morning, she wakes up excited to go to work. She feels alive. She even thinks more about what she’s wearing.
Nothing out of the ordinary—but some pants that fit a little better. A blouse unbuttoned one button lower. Perfume. Body lotion.
This morning Marty wakes up looking... well, worn out. Usually, his first thought is of her. Today’s no different—but he tries to resist thinking about her.
(Doesn’t work.)
How is he supposed to face her today... when last night, he touched himself with her on his mind?
He’d been resisting for weeks—but last night, it was impossible.
They'd spent the entire day flirting. Just like they do every day.
Exchanging glances, clever remarks, a small touch here, a teasing comment there, teasing and teasing…being around each other... She’s on his mind all the time. And when he comes home to his quiet apartment, it’s like... she’s still there, keeping him company.
But last night—he couldn't help it.
He closed his eyes and imagined her.
Kissing her first. His tongue entering her mouth and tasting hers. One hand on her neck, pulling her in. Kissing down her throat... her collarbone...
She’s wearing a long white button-up dress. He unbuttons it, revealing her bra. He squeezes her breasts through the silk. He strokes his cock at the thought of squeezing her breasts. Takes her bra off and then with nothing between them, he lets out a low moan as he imagines it: licking her nipples, one hand slipping under the dress to her thigh, sliding under her panties, and feeling her pussy.
She’s wet. So wet.
He imagines sliding a finger inside her—and she moans his name.
“Marty...”
And that’s when he comes. Eyes still closed…a finger still inside her. Breathing hard.
Opens his eyes. Alone.
Just him. Sitting in his living room.
And to make things better—or worse—that night, he dreams of her.
He’s sitting in the same place—in that same living room.
She’s straddling him, her back to his chest, and he’s thrusting into her. He can’t see her face, but he knows it’s her. Her blonde hair falling down her back. Her scent—by now, so familiar.
He holds her hips, then wraps an arm around her belly while the other hand cups her breasts.
She starts to turn her head, but doesn’t.
His cock is so hard. She’s so tight. So warm around him.
She leans back on him and says his name.
Marty... God, he loves to fuck her.
Wake up, Marty!!
He shoots up in bed. Holy shit. It felt real.
He slides his hand down. Still hard. But not like in the dream…when he was inside her. In the dream... it was perfect.
He lies back down, covers his eyes with both arms.
“How the fuck am I supposed to sleep after this?”
It’s Sitzprobe day.
Marty arrives at the theatre. He barely slept.
He can’t stop thinking about the dream... and about touching himself while imagining her. He can’t stop wondering what she’s really like in bed.
She must be... amazing.
And he can’t stop thinking about how he’s going to face her.
He walks onto the set, looks around, and there she is.
Shit!
She sees him. Smiles.
“Hiii,” she says softly, giving a little wave.
He can’t. Not yet.
He turns around and walks away.
“What the...?” Her smile fades. She doesn’t understand what just happened.
She follows him. He didn’t go far—just to the coffee cart.
“Marty?”
Oh no. She came after him.
And the way she said his name... fuck. It’s Meryl. From the dream.
In his mind, she’s already naked. His mouth is on her nipples. His hand between her thighs.
“Yes,” he replies, without turning around.
She frowns, but her voice stays sweet.
“Is something wrong?”
“No. Thank you.” He turns slightly, still avoiding her eyes.
She raises an eyebrow.
“Are you okay? What happened?”
He grabs a coffee cup and starts walking, eyes on the floor.
“Nothing happened. All normal.” God, I must sound like a complete jerk, he thinks.
She presses her lips together, clearly not understanding—or enjoying—this.
“Marty.”
He hears the tone shift in her voice. He stops. Glances at her, then looks away again.
“Can you please tell me what’s going on?”
She starts to wonder if she did something wrong—something that made him uncomfortable.
She knows they’ve been flirting... sharing cheeky remarks. She thought they both enjoyed it. She thought they both wanted it.
Maybe she was wrong.
“Meryl, I told you—there’s nothing wrong.”
“Then why aren’t you looking at me? And why are you talking to me like that?”
By now, they’ve caught the attention of a few crew members.
People have noticed what’s been going on between them—quiet comments, lingering looks, giggles. They're always together. Always.
And now... Meryl Streep does not look amused.
Nobody wants to be near this.
Selena and Steve are on their way over when Selena slows down. She sees them talking—sees Marty staring at the floor, Meryl’s tense expression.
She stops.
“Uh-oh.”
Steve stops too. “What?”
Selena gestures toward Meryl and Marty.
“Maybe we should come back later.”
Steve squints. “Why?”
“You know... they’re clearly having a thing.”
“A thing?” Steve asks, confused.
Selena shrugs. “Well, no lovey-dovey today.”
“Lovey-dovey? What do you mean?”
Selena rolls her eyes. “Come on, Steve. You see them. Every day. Flirting. Hitting on each other.”
Steve blinks. “What?! Flirting?!”
Selena keeps walking, shaking her head.
________________________________________
Back with Meryl and Marty—
Marty, the guy who always has a quick response, suddenly... doesn’t.
He has nothing.
“Did I do something that made you uncomfortable?” she asks, voice quiet, vulnerable.
That gets his attention.
She made him uncomfortable?
He finally looks at her.
“I’m sorry. No. You didn’t do anything. I know my reaction must seem... off. But it’s me. It’s not you.”
Oof.
Meryl takes a breath.
Wow. That one stings.
“It’s me, not you.” The classic line.
She nods. “Okay.”
And walks away.
“Fuck!” Marty mutters. That was the worst possible thing he could’ve said. How did this spiral so fast?
It’s Sitzprobe day.
And they both remember.
Meryl remembers. Marty remembers.
In today’s scene, Oliver has to apologize to Loretta... and tell her he loves her.
Marty needs to sit down and figure out how the hell he’s going to say those words—today.
Oliver hasn’t said those words to a woman in a long time.
Marty hasn’t either. Not in thirteen years.
But it’s not Marty saying it... it’s Oliver.
It’s not Meryl... it’s Loretta.
Still…
Meryl leans against a wall, away from Marty, waiting for John to call her to set.
She wishes she could just go home.
She feels stupid. How could she have let this happen? How did she misread everything so badly?
She shakes her head. She feels foolish.
She thought Marty liked what was going on... like she did.
Didn’t he?
Then what was all of that?
Damn it, Meryl! Does she actually like him?
No time to answer. John calls them both.
They take their positions.
John can immediately tell something’s off. The air feels heavier.
But Meryl launches into her lines, as if nothing is wrong. Ever the professional.
Marty... wishes he could disappear.
Not only is he dealing with last night, but now he’s also dealing with the fact that he’s hurt her.
They begin the scene.
And what seems like brilliant acting…It’s not acting.
It’s real.
Marty is trying to find a way out of the mess he’s created. Meryl is disappointed—maybe in him, maybe in herself. Her eyes glisten, full of real tears.
Great for the scene.
Except, it’s reals tears and Marty knows they’re real.
And then... it’s time for the line.
“And there’s more... and it’s a biggie. I love you.
Wow, haven’t said those words in a minute.
But you know what? It felt right, so I’m going to say it again.
Here it goes. I love you, Loretta.”
She swallows hard as she hears it.
He takes a deep breath after saying it.
The scene ends with Meryl far from him—visibly shaken.
John is amazed at the performance….so amazed they don’t need to do more takes.
“Okay, guys! I just got the note that we can’t shoot anything else today—technical issues. I’m really, really sorry. That’s a wrap for today!”
Relief.
Marty follows Meryl.
She’s grabbing a bottle of water, trying to steady her emotions.
Hearing him say those words—to Loretta, sure—was just too much.
“Meryl.”
She closes her eyes for a moment, exhales deeply, then turns to face him.
“Marty... you don’t have to say anything more. It’s okay. I got it.”
“No. I don’t think you did. And that’s my fault.”
“It’s not your fault. I misread it. It won’t happen again.”
Wait—what?
What is she saying? Are they even talking about the same thing?
“Meryl... you're right. I was acting differently. There’s a reason... but I don’t want to tell you.”
“But you wouldn’t look at me. So I know it’s something about me. Isn’t it?”
He takes a deep breath.
“It is. But it’s nothing you did. You couldn’t possibly make me uncomfortable. I love being around you. We have fun... don’t we?”
“Fun,” she echoes.
“Yes... we have fun.”
“You know what I mean...”
“Clearly, I don’t.” She shakes her head.
Shit.
He can’t lose her.
“Meryl—” he grabs her gently by the arms. It’s the first time he touches her like this. Her heart races. He’s looking straight into her eyes.
“I don’t want to ruin what we have. But I also don’t want to lie to you. So I’m going to tell you something... but please, don’t ask me anything about it.”
She’s quiet. Curious.
He pulls her in a little closer. Then leans in, mouth near her ear.
“I had a dream about you last night. And this morning, I just... I couldn’t face you.”
He pauses, then glances at her neck, catching her scent without touching her, but wanting so much that his cock hardens a bit.
“I’m going to turn and walk away now. And hopefully, tomorrow, we can pick up where we left off yesterday... and forget about today.”
He kisses her cheek, lowers his gaze, and walks away.
Meryl is frozen.
Her heart pounds so loud, she can hear it in her ears. There are butterflies—no, elephants—stomping in her stomach.
She can’t think.
His nearness. His breath on her ear. His hands on her arms, pulling her to him. The pressure of his fingers.
He had a sexual dream about her. A hot wave went through her body, when she heard this.
After finally being able to move again, Meryl leaves the theatre as fast as she can. She needs to be alone.
She gets home, drops her things on the hallway table, and sinks into the big sofa.
Only now can she truly think about what he said.
And she smiles.
Then grins.
The thought of it makes her feel something she hasn’t felt in years.
Now she wonders... what was the dream?
Was it just kisses?
Or did he dream he was fucking her?
Oh, god. Meryl!
She hopes it was both. She knows it was both. That’s why he couldn’t look at her.
She bites her lip and smiles wickedly.
Marty Short is having sex with her in his dreams.
And that can only mean one thing: he’s probably fucking her in his daydreams, too.
Also... it brings her mind back to the SAG Awards.
Ooooh. She takes a deep breath.
She has a secret too.
Marty arrived at his apartment completely drained.
What a day.
What a morning—and it wasn’t even lunchtime yet.
He dropped his keys somewhere near the counter, kicked off his shoes, and collapsed onto the sofa like gravity had personally declared war on him.
He sat there for a full minute, staring at the ceiling.
Then groaned.
“Good one, Marty.”
Real smooth.
Best decision ever: tell Meryl Streep—the best actress of all time—that you had a wet dream about her last night.
He dragged both hands down his face and let out a low, strangled noise.
What the hell had possessed him?
Well. She did. Obviously.
By now, she could be calling HR.
Or worse—deciding never to speak to him again.
But even in the pit of shame he was wallowing in, he knew that wouldn’t happen.
Not really.
Not after what happened this morning.
He had seen the way she looked at him—hurt, confused. Like she thought he was trying to push her away.
And then when he grabbed her arm—when he pulled her to him— She hadn’t pulled away.
In fact, she almost leaned into him.
That part stuck in his head like a song on repeat.
He wanted her.
There.
He admitted it.
Not just “oh she’s nice” or “oh she’s sexy” kind of wanting.
He wanted her.
Wanted her in a way he hadn’t wanted anyone in a decade. Maybe longer.
Hell, he’s ashamed to admit it, but wants her like no woman before.
It was hard to admit that—to himself, to anyone—but it was true.
Meryl was... intoxicating.
He liked everything about her.
Her mind.
Her talent.
Her voice.
Her kindness.
Her laugh.
Her everything.
And yeah, her body.
Jesus.
That body.
He was attracted to everything about her.
And the truth? He had been for years.
Of course he had.
But it was always distant. Admiration from afar. An occasional flirty joke. A fantasy that lived in the back of his mind like an old photograph.
Nothing serious.
Not until SAG.
Oooops.
There it was again.
The SAG thing.
He flopped sideways onto the couch, groaning into a cushion.