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L.A. Affairs: I found love in a truly hopeless place. Yes, the office

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L.A. Affairs: I found love in a truly hopeless place. Yes, the office

Heartbroken after a breakup that was long overdue, crushed by a stalled entertainment industry and depressed by my temporary day job at a dementia center, I grasped at any semblance of stability. Desperation led me to apply for an office job at a law firm in Westwood despite having zero legal experience and a unique disdain for cubicles and fluorescent lighting.

Months of hopeful waiting ended with a curt dismissal: “We’ve decided to move forward with another candidate.”

I was bitter, and my mind was overflowing with imagined shortcomings directed at the other candidate. The guy they chose was probably fluent in legal jargon and adept at being mundane as hell. He probably penciled in his laughter. He probably was awful, I thought.

Two months later, I received a phone call. The firm was expanding and wanted to hire me. I knew I would have to work with the person who got the job I had applied for, but I needed the income, so I dusted off my loafers and put my ego aside.

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I wasn’t going to be there for the long-term and I certainly wasn’t going to make friends, I decided. Naturally the universe had other plans for my time in the office. My aloof facade crumbled upon meeting Chris.

When we were introduced, I politely asked him how he was doing, and he proudly belted out, “L-I-V-I-N!”

It was obvious why Chris was selected for the job that I had wanted. He didn’t know about statutes or precedents. He wasn’t stuffy or boring, and his laughter was far from regulated. Everyone loved him. And why wouldn’t they? I’d never met anyone like him.

His smile was like a floodlight. He repelled negative energy, and anxiety feared him. In an office that made the DMV look like Disneyland, he was everything.

Chris was training me, and we were the only people in our department. I started wearing mascara, removing my headphones and asking Chris questions I already knew the answer to. He would leave notes on my car. We exchanged screenplays, and he would text me after work, referencing inside jokes that we pretended were funnier than they were.

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But I’ll admit that I was stubborn. I couldn’t let myself enjoy anything about this job or this phase in my life. I needed to focus on my writing. The strike would end, the clouds would lift, and this blip in time would be forgotten. I couldn’t admit that I was in love with Chris. It wasn’t part of my plan.

We would go to Barney’s Beanery together on our lunch breaks but pretend that we weren’t going on dates. We would take our 15-minute breaks together to “get fresh air.” We made a combined Spotify Blend playlist, revealing our mutual love of Green Day and the Smashing Pumpkins. Sometimes I even forgot how much I hated going to the office.

Chris had an AMC Movie Pass, and I was a good liar. He would see movies after work to beat traffic, so I bought the pass and acted like I’d always had it.

The day we planned to see a movie after work, Chris received terrible news of a death in his family. I offered my condolences at the office. I wanted to hold him but didn’t know if I could so much as pat his arm. I asked if he’d still like to see the movie, and he insisted he needed the distraction.

It was Christmas for all of December in Century City. As we drank three limoncellos each, Chris told me stories about his uncle who made Southern California feel like home, and we shared our first hug. He smelled like clean laundry, and I was drunk enough to tell him.

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We sneaked more drinks into the theater and watched Paul Giamatti in “The Holdovers,” which made me cry. Chris held my hand. We stumbled into another movie — a private screening of a live production of “Titanic the Musical.” We didn’t want our night to end, so we went to Barney’s for a nightcap. Standing outside of our favorite bar, we shared our first kiss. It felt overdue.

Since then, we’ve met each other’s families and friends, taken road trips together and seen many more movies. (For me, the AMC Pass was a great investment.)

We also finished all of our work assignments at the law firm. Three weeks ago, the firm let Chris go. I wondered if I should quit. I wanted to. Chris was the best thing about that office, and I couldn’t bear the thought of being there without him. Thirty minutes after Chris was let go, I was let go. We were so happy to be free. The next day we went to Universal Studios to celebrate.

The maze of dead-end interviews, the drudgery of temporary gigs and the tumultuous nature of making a living as a writer don’t feel so bad anymore. We have new day jobs but still go to Barney’s Beanery. We also work on our screenplays and write bad jokes.

Occasionally I make arbitrary plans and ridiculous statements about how things ought to pan out. And I find myself laughing. Not a penciled-in laugh. An unchecked laugh. A Chris-inspired free laugh. I don’t know what the future holds for us, but for now, Chris and I are falling deeper in love and “L-I-V-I-N.”

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The author is a screenwriter living in West Hollywood. She’s on Instagram: @mlindz

L.A. Affairs chronicles the search for romantic love in all its glorious expressions in the L.A. area, and we want to hear your true story. We pay $400 for a published essay. Email LAAffairs@latimes.com. You can find submission guidelines here. You can find past columns here.

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Nick Reiner’s attorney removes himself from case

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Nick Reiner’s attorney removes himself from case

Nick Reiner arrives at the premiere of Spinal Tap II: The End Continues on Tuesday, Sept. 9, 2025, in Los Angeles.

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LOS ANGELES – Alan Jackson, the high-power attorney representing Nick Reiner in the stabbing death of his parents, producer-actor-director Rob Reiner and photographer Michele Singer Reiner, withdrew from the case Wednesday.

Reiner will now be represented by public defender Kimberly Greene.

Wearing a brown jumpsuit, Reiner, 32, didn’t enter a plea during the brief hearing. A judge has rescheduled his arraignment for Feb. 23.

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Following the hearing, defense attorney Alan Jackson told a throng of reporters that Reiner is not guilty of murder.

“We’ve investigated this matter top to bottom, back to front. What we’ve learned and you can take this to the bank, is that pursuant to the law of this state, pursuant to the law in California, Nick Reiner is not guilty of murder,” he said.

Reiner is charged with first-degree murder, with special circumstances, in the stabbing deaths of his parents – father Rob, 78, and mother Michele, 70.

The Los Angeles coroner ruled that the two died from injuries inflicted by a knife.

The charges carry a maximum sentence of death. LA County District Attorney Nathan Hochman said he has not decided whether to seek the death penalty.

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“We are fully confident that a jury will convict Nick Reiner beyond a reasonable doubt of the brutal murder of his parents — Rob Reiner and Michele Singer Reiner … and do so unanimously,” he said.

Last month, after Reiner’s initial court appearance, Jackson said, “There are very, very complex and serious issues that are associated with this case. These need to be thoroughly but very carefully dealt with and examined and looked at and analyzed. We ask that during this process, you allow the system to move forward – not with a rush to judgment, not with jumping to conclusions.”

The younger Reiner had a long history of substance abuse and attempts at rehabilitation.

His parents had become increasingly alarmed about his behavior in the weeks before the killings.

Legal experts say there is a possibility that Reiner’s legal team could attempt to use an insanity defense.

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Defense attorney Dmitry Gorin, a former LA County prosecutor, said claiming insanity or mental impairment presents a major challenge for any defense team.

He told The Los Angeles Times, “The burden of proof is on the defense in an insanity case, and the jury may see the defense as an excuse for committing a serious crime.

“The jury sets a very high bar on the defendant because it understands that it will release him from legal responsibility,” Gorin added.

The death of Rob Reiner, who first won fame as part of the legendary 1970s sitcom All in the Family, playing the role of Michael “Meathead” Stivic, was a beloved figure in Hollywood and his death sent shockwaves through the community.

After All in the Family, Reiner achieved even more fame as a director of films such as A Few Good Men, Stand By Me, The Princess Bride and When Harry Met Sally. He was nominated for four Golden Globe Awards in the best director category.

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Rob Reiner came from a show business pedigree. His father, Carl Reiner, was a legendary pioneer in television who created the iconic 1960s comedy, The Dick Van Dyke Show.

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Chiefs Aware of Domestic Violence Allegations Made By Rashee Rice’s Ex

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Chiefs Aware of Domestic Violence Allegations Made By Rashee Rice’s Ex

Chiefs
Aware of Dom. Violence Claims
… Made By Rashee Rice’s Ex

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Timothée Chalamet brings a lot to the table in ‘Marty Supreme’

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Timothée Chalamet brings a lot to the table in ‘Marty Supreme’

Timothée Chalamet plays a shoe salesman who dreams of becoming the greatest table tennis player in the world in Marty Supreme.

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Last year, while accepting a Screen Actors Guild award for A Complete Unknown, Timothée Chalamet told the audience, “I want to be one of the greats; I’m inspired by the greats.” Many criticized him for his immodesty, but I found it refreshing: After all, Chalamet has never made a secret of his ambition in his interviews or his choice of material.

In his best performances, you can see both the character and the actor pushing themselves to greatness, the way Chalamet did playing Bob Dylan in A Complete Unknown, which earned him the second of two Oscar nominations. He’s widely expected to receive a third for his performance in Josh Safdie’s thrilling new movie, Marty Supreme, in which Chalamet pushes himself even harder still.

Chalamet plays Marty Mauser, a 23-year-old shoe salesman in 1952 New York who dreams of being recognized as the greatest table-tennis player in the world. He’s a brilliant player, but for a poor Lower East Side Jewish kid like Marty, playing brilliantly isn’t enough: Simply getting to championship tournaments in London and Tokyo will require money he doesn’t have.

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And so Marty, a scrappy, speedy dynamo with a silver tongue and inhuman levels of chutzpah, sets out to borrow, steal, cheat, sweet-talk and hustle his way to the top. He spends almost the entire movie on the run, shaking down friends and shaking off family members, hatching new scams and fleeing the folks he’s already scammed, and generally trying to extricate himself from disasters of his own making.

Marty is very loosely based on the real-life table-tennis pro Marty Reisman. But as a character, he’s cut from the same cloth as the unstoppable antiheroes of Uncut Gems and Good Time, both of which Josh Safdie directed with his brother Benny. Although Josh directed Marty Supreme solo, the ferocious energy of his filmmaking is in line with those earlier New York nail-biters, only this time with a period setting. Most of the story unfolds against a seedy, teeming postwar Manhattan, superbly rendered by the veteran production designer Jack Fisk as a world of shadowy game rooms and rundown apartments.

Early on, though, Marty does make his way to London, where he finagles a room at the same hotel as Kay Stone, a movie star past her 1930s prime. She’s played by Gwyneth Paltrow, in a luminous and long-overdue return to the big screen. Marty is soon having a hot fling with Kay, even as he tries to swindle her ruthless businessman husband, Milton Rockwell, played by the Canadian entrepreneur and Shark Tank regular Kevin O’Leary.

Marty Supreme is full of such ingenious, faintly meta bits of stunt casting. The rascally independent filmmaker Abel Ferrara turns up as a dog-loving mobster. The real-life table-tennis star Koto Kawaguchi plays a Japanese champ who beats Marty in London and leaves him spoiling for a rematch. And Géza Röhrig, from the Holocaust drama Son of Saul, pops up as Marty’s friend Bela Kletzki, a table tennis champ who survived Auschwitz. Bela tells his story in one of the film’s best and strangest scenes, a death-camp flashback that proves crucial to the movie’s meaning.

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In one early scene, Marty brags to some journalists that he’s “Hitler’s worst nightmare.” It’s not a stretch to read Marty Supreme as a kind of geopolitical parable, culminating in an epic table-tennis match, pitting a Jewish player against a Japanese one, both sides seeking a hard-won triumph after the horrors of World War II.

The personal victory that Marty seeks would also be a symbolic one, striking a blow for Jewish survival and assimilation — and regeneration: I haven’t yet mentioned a crucial subplot involving Marty’s close friend Rachel, terrifically played by Odessa A’zion, who’s carrying his child and gets sucked into his web of lies.

Josh Safdie, who co-wrote and co-edited the film with Ronald Bronstein, doesn’t belabor his ideas. He’s so busy entertaining you, as Marty ping-pongs from one catastrophe to the next, that you’d be forgiven for missing what’s percolating beneath the movie’s hyperkinetic surface.

Marty himself, the most incorrigible movie protagonist in many a moon, has already stirred much debate; many find his company insufferable and his actions indefensible. But the movies can be a wonderfully amoral medium, and I found myself liking Marty Mauser — and not just liking him, but actually rooting for him to succeed. It takes more than a good actor to pull that off. It takes one of the greats.

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