Jessica

Jessica Williams always goes to bed laughing.

“Everything’s so sad,” the actor explains. “Not taking yourself seriously is the only way, because otherwise I would just be upset, especially as a Black woman in the year 2026. I hate when people are on ‘The Bachelor’ and they’re like, ‘I love laughing,’ but it’s true. I really love it.”

Williams, 37, knows a thing or two about making others laugh. A three-time Emmy nominee for supporting actress in a comedy series for her work on “Shrinking,” she’s made an art of it. On a show about grief and mental health, Williams is often on hand to bring the funny.

Curled up in a chair on the top floor of The Times’ offices in El Segundo, looking down on the runways of LAX boiling in the late July sun, Williams gives runway fierceness against the beige office walls. She is just like the pop of bubblegum pink polish on her toenails as she strikes a pose in a chic all-black linen ensemble — a delightful burst of cheer in a subdued environment, something effervescent amid so much inoffensive sameness. She’s always been that way.

I would know; I’ve known her since we were 12 years old, awkward adolescents in Marcia Barryte’s Dodson Middle School drama class. As we catch up, I remind her of a PG-13 scene she caused in eighth grade science class during an earthquake drill. (To be fair, the drama students were asked to play standardized patients, and she was assigned “hysteria.”) While the class collected our backpacks, she broke into an award-worthy performance, wailing about not wanting to die a virgin.

“No!” she gasps, covering her mouth but unable to hide the mischievous grin that’s broken across her face at the memory. “That’s very inappropriate. I love that.”

Under slightly different circumstances, it’s a storyline that could belong to her “Shrinking” character, Gaby Evans, a therapist who brings her sunny demeanor, audacious sense of humor and enviable stores of energy into every room. That’s partly because so much of who Gaby is has been carefully honed by the writers and Williams to align with the actor’s voice.

“We can write almost anything and Jessica can make it sound like it has stemmed from Gaby,” says series co-creator Bill Lawrence. “She’s in charge of Gaby’s voice — and it’s a tremendous safety net for us as a writing staff.”

Jessica Williams in “Shrinking.”

(Apple TV)

Williams agrees this has been her experience, one she’s grateful for in an industry often dead set on ignoring perspectives like hers. “At the end of the day, white guys are in charge of this business,” she says. “Progress in film and TV requires them to go to bat for us. I feel really lucky to be on a show where Bill pulled me aside and was like, ‘If I’m doing my job right, the first couple episodes, we write these stories, and then, there’s a moment where it switches to being your character and you are the shepherd of her.’ It made it really collaborative and a safe space for me to play.”

Three seasons in, the set has become the world’s best playground. For instance, the writers gave Williams ample runway in a scene where Gaby turns the tables and proposes to her boyfriend, Derek (Damon Wayans Jr.), after discovering an engagement ring in a desk drawer (and getting it stuck on her finger). “Look, if you’re a television writer and you have a proposal scene and you don’t let Jessica Williams run with it, you’re cheating yourself,” quips Lawrence.

That mutual trust doesn’t mean that Gaby and Williams are the same person — just that Williams’ lived experience has shaped who Gaby is. “The point of a scene is we don’t know what it’s going to be,” she says. “We learned our lines. We’re going to show up. The director’s here. They have an idea. We’re going to make this thing together. We’re going to ‘Yes, and?’ until we get the scene up.”

Her ability to take the ball and run with it is what caught Lawrence’s eye in the first place, discovering Williams as a correspondent on “The Daily Show.” “She works very hard at making it seem like it’s off the cuff,” he emphasizes. “She is quick to call the writing staff with questions and is always looking to improve things. That’s not always the truth with everybody. She works her ass off.”

Jessica Williams. (Ryan Pfluger / For The Times)

That work ethic was essential for her Season 3 arc, which found Williams facing some of the toughest acting challenges of her career. Gaby bonds with a new, albeit reluctant, patient, Maya (Sherry Cola), only to be devastated when Maya takes her own life. It’s the heaviest storyline of the season — and a heartbreaking look at the realities of suicide, loss and trauma in the lives of mental health professionals.

One of the show’s consultants had experienced a similar loss, and their insights helped the writing staff find dramatic resonance. For Williams, it was a chance to showcase what she always believed she was capable of. “For women, people of color, queer people, any minorities, we just want the opportunity to show what we can do,” Williams says. “I was rubbing my hands together. Like, ‘F— yeah. Let’s go.’ But I was also really nervous. Sometimes when I get scenes that are a bit more difficult, I wake up and I wonder if I can do it. Every single time it’s proving to myself that I can. It felt like I didn’t get to rest last season in a way that was really nice. Most times I feel like I’m just goofing, but that felt like, ‘Oh, I’m an actor.’”

That’s an inevitable side effect of appearing on a Bill Lawrence show. His blend of humor and pathos demands a high-wire act from his ensembles. “With Bill, you have to have the acting chops to be able to do the drama, but then be able to turn a joke very quickly,” says Christa Miller, who’s been married to Lawrence since 1999 and played major roles on “Scrubs” and “Cougar Town” before “Shrinking,” in which she stars as Liz. “You really have to be able to do it on a dime.”

Lawrence clocked early on that Williams had the chops to hold her own against heavyweights like Harrison Ford. “We knew comedically she would crush it. The only question mark was about who she was as an actress,” says Lawrence. “But she was great from the second she set foot onstage. It would’ve been a massive mistake not to let her showcase that stuff.”

The storyline also pushed Williams to reopen an old wound. In 2019, she lost her longtime boyfriend to a heroin overdose. “He had a therapist who had come recommended from my therapist,” she says. “I don’t remember that time that much because it was so intense and traumatic. I do remember my therapist was helping me work through it, but she was also like, ‘I’d like to check in with his therapist and see how he’s doing.’ That was the first place I went when they told me about that storyline. It was a good opportunity to work through that a little bit.”

Even though her grief was readily accessible, it also churned up emotions that Williams often tries to quiet. “There’s always something when someone dies, whether it’s suicide or an accident, where you feel guilt,” she reflects. “‘What could I have done?’ It was something that I’ve processed and am still processing, and it was easy to transfer that into Season 3. Grief is so ongoing. It’s a wound that I have forever, and I would give anything to not have it. But now I have it, and I live with it. It’s like an old friend.”

Williams describes the days filming those scenes as different for her, harder to shake. Driving home from the set in Burbank, she’d often take side streets back to her house in Eagle Rock, getting lost in music and her environment. “It felt like trying to shed it,” she explains. “I really felt it. But so many people responded to it in a way that was what I wanted. It’s such an intimate thing, this job, and to be able to portray something [that resonates], that’s the whole point.”

One emotion the work generated that she wasn’t expecting? Embarrassment. “I’m usually not embarrassed doing comedy,” she says. “I’m like, ‘There’s no rules. We can try anything.’ It doesn’t feel as vulnerable, whereas acting, there’s something fundamentally so indulgent about it.”

It’s a surprising admission; though I haven’t spent substantial time with Williams in years, she always seemed fearless to me. Willing to do whatever it took to get a laugh. It’s why our drama teacher invented an entirely new role for her in our spring musical, to showcase her generational comedic talent.

Williams agrees she was a cutup in class, but she never got the chance to do any capital-A acting in middle school. “I would get a part, and then I wouldn’t be able to do it,” she recounts. “Mrs. Barryte would have to call my parents and be like, ‘She did not do her homework. She has bad grades. She can’t do the play.’ I let people down. I remember feeling really sad about it.

“That taught me I’m a part of a team,” she reflects. “I have to be professional. I have to be ready. But I’m glad I don’t have to do my math homework to be able to perform. Public school’s tough — you had to be an awkward Black girl and get good grades to do the musical.”

That all changed when Williams found improv, joining the ComedySportz team at Harbor City’s Narbonne High (she continued on the college team while she was a student at Cal State Long Beach). “I cared about improv so much that I wasn’t not going to do my homework,” she says. “It just affected my life profoundly. I’m getting misty thinking about these programs that are underfunded, that s— really matters.”

Williams has also found reassurance in the response to her character. “She makes me more confident,” she admits. “Just seeing the response to Gaby. A lot of that is amazing writing, directing and an amazing crew, but it’s also my instincts.”

“The first time I was like, ‘Whoa, what the f—?’” she says of her three Emmy nominations for the role. “Second time, it was like, ‘OK, it wasn’t a fluke.’ And then the third time you’re like, ‘Oh s—!’ All the actresses that I admire are in this category, so I’m honored. But these are my peers too. So it’s like, ‘Oh, they see me.’ Gaby means something to people, it feels like — and that’s really nice. It encourages me to keep going.”

As for what that future will hold, besides at least one more season of “Shrinking,” Williams is hungry to do a play on Broadway, having not done theater since high school. Somewhere in there she’d like to capitalize on her tendency to play erudite characters and embody a detective in a thriller (preferably a paranormal one like her childhood faves “So Weird” and “The X-Files”).

Mostly, though, she just wants to keep doing what she’s been striving for since we were kids — “I want, when you watch me, for you to feel like you’ve seen something magic happen.”

Well, abracadabra.

BROOKS Nader stole the spotlight at a World Cup final party in New York sporting a thigh-skimming mini skirt and matching crop top.

The American model, 29, chose the striking white co-ord, which showed her toned abs and tanned thighs, for her night out at Zero Bond bar in Lower Manhattan ahead of the clash between Spain and Argentina.

Brooks, who recently showcased her figure in a trendy bikini, oozed glam in her two-piece and ramped up her look with thigh high-heeled boots.

The Baywatch actress styled her blonde hair into loose waves flowing over her shoulders and kept her make-up fresh.

She flashed a smile as she entered the party, hosted by Todd Graves, for the Raising Cane’s Chicken Fingers event.

She was joined by actress Jessica Alba, who donned a black bandeau dress, and Jake Paul in all-white attire.

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Earlier in the night, Brooks took to Instagram to share behind the scenes glimpses of her getting ready for the night.

She stripped topless for a snap to praise her “dream team” as she posed in front of a cabinet filled with cosmetics.

The IMG Model then covered her modesty with her hands for another sizzling selfie.

Brooks then pulled on her co-ord and captured herself in the midst of a blow dry.

After her lively night, Brooks revealed she was working the following day on the Baywatch set.

Brooks was announced as one of the Baywatch reboot castmembers back in March.

She will be playing Selene, a captain of the Zuma beach lifeguards, according to Fox.

In her latest caption she wrote: “And we’re back, time to save some lives”.

Bestselling author Jessica Knoll’s protagonists mostly follow a specific pattern: They are women who have learned Not. To. Flinch.

And, apparently, neither does Knoll. Talking over Zoom about her fourth novel, the erotic thriller “Helpless,” which is out this month, the author is blunt about the challenges it took to complete the book. “It takes a lot of skill to write good sex,” Knoll says. “I relied a lot on feedback from my editor and from my book agents saying ‘this is hot; this is not.’”

Knoll has written romantic scenes before, but “Helpless” needed to be enthralling and economic enough not to get her kicked off of Target’s bookshelves. In the end, the author says, “I went by what felt good and natural for these characters and maybe a little bit of the really unfiltered talk you have with your girlfriends after a couple martinis or are on a girls trip.”

Knoll’s successful career as a novelist rests on her knack for creating provocative page-turners that depict the absolute worst things one person could do to another — but in such a sensational, tongue-prickling-sour-candy kind of way that her books come off as devilishly evil beach reads. Since her debut bestseller, 2015’s “Luckiest Girl Alive,” — a master class in braided narration between a Machiavellian magazine editor and her younger self who endured so much emotional and physical trauma that it’s no wonder she grew up to be extremely calculating — to 2018’s reality TV-set “The Favorite Sister” and 2023’s “Bright Young Women,” a response to the public’s obsession with immortalizing serial killers while also not knowing the name of a single one of their victims. Knoll’s books are not only stories about women who do not care if you like them but also ones where disastrous results await the women who do follow our cultural conditioning to be agreeable to men.

Her “Helpless” heroine is not so different from a lot of her previous main characters: Type A overachievers with cutting inner monologues that let the reader know they’re always one step ahead in the social Darwinism that is female relationships. This time, she’s named Faye Heron, an Emmy-winning Hollywood multi-hyph who found cachet while working on one of those edgy premium dramedies that probably aired on HBO. Faye, and her husband/producing partner, have parlayed this notoriety into indie, cool-kid projects that are just commercial enough that some of the target audiences’ boomer parents may also watch.

When Faye’s beloved college professor dies suddenly and she’s asked to speak at a memorial ceremony, nostalgia and flattery make her drop everything and hightail it back to the leafy northeastern college town. The place is a time capsule with sketchy internet service, drunken frat boys, and — most crucially — Faye’s college boyfriend Henry, who is now married with two kids and still lives in the area. The clothing references and song choices are popcorn for those old enough to remember the aughts but young enough to party during them. The Elsa Peretti-designed Tiffany & Co. heart necklace that was the it-girl accessory of the time, and now is one that Gen Zers are fishing out of the bottoms of their parents’ jewelry boxes, factors significantly into the plot.

Although the story eventually spirals into other tropes of the Knoll-niverse — kidnappings, cover-ups, affairs, the laissez-faire security that only old money affords — Faye stands out because she wants to be told what to do. In a secure and mutually consenting relationship, of course. And preferably after she’s told her partner what she wants.

“Helpless” was influenced by the 1995 Susanna Moore thriller “In the Cut” as well as Sarah J. Maas’ currently uber-popular romantasy series “A Court of Thorns and Roses,” both of which discuss power imbalances and smart women who become enamored with dangerous lovers.

Knoll has always been open about creating work that’s commercial. She famously wrote a 2018 New York Times opinion piece, titled “I Want to Be Rich and I’m Not Sorry,” that discussed her need to rank in money with an almost Scrooge McDuck fervor: “Success, for me, is synonymous with making money,” she writes. “I want to write books, but I really want to sell books. I want advances that make my husband gasp and fat royalty checks twice a year. I want movie studios to pay me for option rights and I want the screenwriting comp to boot.”

(Evelyn Freja / For The Times)

During our Zoom, with the background carefully faded behind her wavy blond bob, she promises that she doesn’t just copy and paste her subjects and settings from what sells.

“I’m just always looking on what the spin is; like, what the timely take is on something that happens to capture my attention,” she continues, citing a habit she credits to her early career working in women’s magazines like Cosmopolitan and Self. She adds that “I just happen to be interested in, like, really dark s—.”

“Helpless,” Knoll stresses, is a work of fiction; even though fans may be looking to draw comparisons to her life since “Luckiest Girl” was heavily influenced by her own career and childhood. Like the book’s Faye, Knoll went to a private liberal arts college. She’s spent time in the Adirondacks with the wealthy families who vacation in bare-basics cabins on the land they own. And she has dealt with her share of studio executives. Unlike Faye, Knoll is happily married to her husband, financial technology executive Greg Cortese. They share a young daughter. Last year, the family moved back to New York after some time in Los Angeles.

She does relate to Faye’s wealth dynamics. Her “Helpless” heroine grew up middle class but now has reached the “made it” level of nervous cockiness that happens when you combine new money and fame; the dream of so many who move to L.A. Henry, Faye’s ex, and his family are so comfortable in their generational wealth that he was raised to wear the same, now-bleach-stained, chambray button-down he had in college than buy a new one because clothes aren’t sound investments.

Knoll says she doesn’t want “things to feel didactic,” but concedes that class divides offer a treasure trove of stories.

“I just find myself going back to, again and again, this idea of someone who is the outsider because they don’t have the pedigree of their peers, but however many years later they’ve accomplished something and they think that they’re on more equal footing with these people from their past,” Knoll says. “Then something happens that brings them back into this environment where maybe they felt less-than years ago. They think that they’re going to go back and be like, ‘well, I’ll show you now because I’ve made it’ and those feelings of inferiority are still there.”

As she’s grown older and her career has become more stable, Knoll says she doesn’t think about success and fame the same way she did when she wrote her viral opinion piece or gave interviews where she talked about money and her own financial security. She says now that her priority is “the longevity of the career.”

Like her heroines, no one tells Knoll what to do. Unless she gives the OK.

Friedlander is a pop culture and entertainment journalist based in Los Angeles who hates coffee but loves Coke Zero.

LONDON — During a weekend that celebrates life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, Wimbledon offers an American variation in the pursuit of Grand Slam glory.

Sunday’s fourth-round clash on the No. 1 Court between Jessica Pegula, the top-ranked American and veteran standard-bearer, and Iva Jovic, the brightest young American star since Coco Gauff, is a compelling intergenerational showdown between the present and future of U.S. women’s tennis.

It’s the kind of matchup worthy of a holiday complete with fireworks.

“I know she’s going to come after me hard,” the 32-year-old Pegula said following her clinical 6-1, 6-3 third-round defeat of Jessica Bouzas Maneiro of Spain on Friday.

“Everyone kind of wants to be the top American, I guess,” agreed Jovic, an 18-year-old from Torrance who toughed out a 6-3, 3-6, 6-4 win over Ekaterina Alexandrova of Russia on Friday to reach the fourth round at Wimbledon for the first time. “There is a little bit extra competition there.”

Pegula and Jovic are hardly unfamiliar opponents, and not just because people frequently told a young Jovic to model her game after Pegula. The two have met three times before, including twice this year, on hard courts in Dubai and on clay in Charleston, S.C. Pegula won all three matches.

American Jessica Pegula serves the ball during a win over Spain’s Sara Sorribes Tormo at Wimbledon on Wednesday.

(Kirsty Wigglesworth / Ap Photo/kirsty Wigglesworth)

“There is a lot of things we do well, and we do similar, but a couple of differences too,” Jovic noted of their baseline-centric, tactical styles.

Pegula is expecting nothing less than a mirror-like baseline duel from the player she affectionately dubbed “mini-me” after beating her in February.

Their career arcs have taken different paths to their first Grand Slam meeting. Pegula spent years grinding away on the Women’s Tennis Assn.’s lower tier before becoming a late-blooming major contender and top-10 mainstay. The experience gap remains enormous: Pegula owns 11 career singles titles to Jovic’s one and has amassed more than 500 tour-level wins compared with just over 100 for the teenager.

Jovic, a top-ranked junior in just her second Wimbledon, quickly has made her presence felt on tour, becoming the youngest player to win a WTA title last season at 17 before backing it up with her breakout quarterfinal run at the Australian Open in January. She is the youngest player in the top 20 and the youngest remaining in the Wimbledon singles draw.

After watching Jovic’s rise this season, Pegula praised her competitive instincts and rapid adjustment to grass.

Jovic “competes like an animal,” Pegula said.

Their relationship to grass, however, couldn’t be more different.

Pegula historically has not been a force at Wimbledon, reaching the quarterfinals only once in 2023. She acknowledges battling her own instincts on the surface.

“I feel like sometimes years in the past I’ve really fought against how to move on it, fought against all the intangibles, all the slices,” she said.

This year she’s relaxed her approach, improved her balance and added more pop to her serve, a major asset on grass.

Jovic, by contrast, has been a quick study when it comes to adapting to the tricky footing, sliding and occasional tumbles on grass. She’s taken to the lawns of London like a natural despite growing up in Los Angeles County, where grass courts are virtually nonexistent.

Jovic credits playing left wing in local soccer leagues from about ages 6 to 13 for her exceptional, low-to-the-ground footwork. That cross-training has paid dividends. She won her first professional title on grass in England last year and recently reached the semifinals at the prestigious Queen’s Club warmup event.

“It’s very closely related to the movement that we do in tennis,” Jovic said of soccer.

Jovic, who’s of Serbian and Croatian descent, also has been keeping tabs on the World Cup, though rooting for the U.S. during late starts has proved challenging in Europe.

Hall of Fame analyst Pam Shriver says the age gap adds a fascinating dimension to the grass-court chess match.

“It’s interesting when rivalries can develop generations apart from the same country, and I think they have a really good respect for each other,” Shriver said.

Torrance native Iva Jovic, left, congratulates fellow American Jessica Pegula after Pegula won their match during the Charleston Open on April 4 in Charleston, S.C.

(Matthew Stockman / Getty Images)

Shriver added that Jovic can learn from Pegula’s cerebral approach, while veterans like Pegula can tap into a fresh mindset from the younger generation’s unflinching energy.

“It goes by so fast,” Pegula acknowledged of the creeping sense of urgency in pursuit of her first major title.

Jovic is aware Sunday’s match is a massive opportunity to prove her rapid ascent is no fluke and flip the script on her head-to-head deficit.

“Hopefully, this will be the one I get her,” she said.

Through the first week in London, Pegula has been in sharper form. She hasn’t dropped a set in three matches, gliding into the fourth round and looking more and more like the favorite in her quarter. She also feasts on fellow Americans. Since 2023, Pegula is an impressive 34-3 against her compatriots.

“I’m always motivated to beat the other Americans in a way that’s different,” Pegula said. “Excited again to challenge myself against someone who is much younger, who is playing with nothing to lose and no fear.”

Still, reaching next weekend’s final will require either player to navigate a brutal top half of the draw. It includes four-time major winners Aryna Sabalenka and Naomi Osaka, two-time major champion Gauff and the last Wimbledon champion left in the field, 2024 winner Barbora Krejcikova.

On a weekend devoted to celebrating the U.S., at least one American will be celebrating at Wimbledon when the fireworks fade.

Coco Gauff overcame an “eventful” start to her French Open title defence – dealing with a “mini car accident” and a dress malfunction before securing a first-round win.

The American fourth seed opened her campaign with a routine 6-4 6-0 victory over compatriot Taylor Townsend.

But it was the drama off the court that left Gauff with the more memorable story.

“We got in a mini car accident on our way to the site today,” she told TNT Sports.

“There was this pole thing and it was supposed to go down and the police told him [the driver] to go and we ran into it.

“You felt an impact, I spilled my juice all over the car.”

Gauff said the car was “not driveable” afterwards and her team had to make alternative travel arrangements to get to the Roland Garros site.

The 22-year-old, who came from a set down to beat Aryna Sabalenka in last year’s final, said the accident – along with other incidents – felt like a “good omen”.

Gauff and Townsend were on Court Philippe Chatrier earlier than planned, with the men’s match before coming to an abrupt end when Alexandre Muller retired injured after 50 minutes against Stefanos Tsitsipas.

“The retirement happened and right before the match my dress got stuck so my physio was in the bathroom trying to help me take it off,” Gauff said.

“It was an eventful day, but whenever that happens it lets you not think about the match.”