Up & Out (12 page)

“Those look great on you,” she says. She puts her tongue in the corner of her upper lip. “Mmm.”

“You wear your glasses during sex, don’t you?” I ask.

“Only if he’s good.”

We leave the store. Kathy wishes the bad haircut lady luck. She is thrilled to have been the fairy glasses mother for so many.
I am further in credit card debt, but I can’t think about it. I deserve a little joy.

“Do you want to go to Nobu Next Door?” Kathy asks. “Will that put you in a better mood?”

“I’m in a great mood. I just paid too much for glasses that I don’t need.”

“Of course you don’t need them. But they look hot, so be happy and let’s get some tempura.”

“Don’t you have to go home to the ball and chain?”

“He’s at a game tonight.” My mouth has already begun to water about the prospect of spicy creamy sauce. I don’t care if I
am
Kathy’s backup plan.

Kathy and I have a really nice dinner. It’s been a long time since we hung out, just the two of us. Occasionally, I like to get my friends one-on-one. We don’t talk at all about Beth or Lauryn. And surprisingly, Kathy barely mentions the wedding. I find myself talking shop way too much.

We split a chocolate soufflé for dessert and Kathy tells me about how there are going to be a bunch of layoffs at her job and she knows about it because she had to report all the overages. She’s feeling pretty bad about it.

“I see all these people in the elevator or the lobby, and of course to me it’s just a bunch of names, but I know that the cuts will include some of these people. I feel awful. I want to scream, ‘Start saving your money! Don’t make any large purchases! You’re all getting up and outed!’”

“What?”

“That’s what they call it, on paper. Up and out.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No.”

“It sounds almost like a good thing.”

“I know. That’s how they get you. I have to talk about this and understand the economic benefit, but I can’t imagine how much it’s going to suck.”

“Up and out?”

“I know,” she says. “I know.”

“Wow, I’m probably getting up and outed, and I just spent four hundred bucks on ruby-red glasses.”

“Don’t worry about it. They need you. You’re the whole show.” I shake my head, eat some more chocolate goodness. I don’t even like dessert that much, but I want to eat the whole thing.

“Don’t you think those people getting up and outed think they are needed, too?” She nods. I can tell she feels like shit about it. That’s why there’s been no talk of wedding favors.

“Sometimes it sucks being an adult,” she says.

Delores spends the rest of the week in a management conference at a company headquarters in Gary, Indiana. I can’t imagine she’s spending much time in meetings because she sends me e-mails and voice mails every five minutes. Still, I prefer not to have her around. The very sight of her makes my allergies act up.

Seamus rents a car on the first Saturday in June. We’re heading all the way out to the tip of Long Island for the day. We hit a ton of traffic, but he’s holding my hand and the windows are open. It’s just nice to be out of the city, which is beginning to boil.

“I like your sunglasses,” he says, looking over at me.

“Prescription,” I say. Another shopping trip with Kathy last summer.

“Nice.”

We stop at a few of the vineyards. In the sun, the wine hits me a little harder than I expect. Or it could be the allergy pill. The wine is not affecting him, because after every sip he swirls it around in his mouth and then spits. I am kind of embarrassed, but the people doing the tasting act like this is normal.

We stop at a little place called the Country Kitchen for dinner. It’s a small, charming place with purple tablecloths and focaccia bread baskets. We have a really good meal of locally caught seafood. He picks the wine and I feel myself getting slightly drunk.

“I always drink a lot of wine around you.”

“I like that. I like how your cheeks get red.” He reaches across the table. “It matches those glasses.”

“They’re new,” I say. “I just got them this week. I’m giving my eyes a rest from contacts.”

“They’re cool. You look good in that color.”

“Do you think it’s going to take us a while to get back to the city?” I am planning on skipping dessert.

“Well, yeah, I was thinking that maybe we could stay around here if you were up for it. I made a reservation at a place a ways down the road.”

“Really,” I say. I can’t believe he did that. “That’s a nice surprise. I would love to.”

I’m going to leave these glasses on tonight to kick it up a notch….

We have a great night and we drink one of the bottles of wine that he bought. The motel is clean and cute. It’s no frills and that makes it more appealing, like we’re having an affair or something. The glasses work, too. We have a lot of fun. In the morning we walk along the bay that is right behind the motel. We go back to the Country Kitchen for breakfast. I’m starting to look ahead and imagine this as our place and the Motel on the Bay an escape. It feels like we are finally becoming a couple and that means that sometime in a future, we will have a past.

This weekend has solidified something between Seamus and me. We keep having all these false starts because of our schedules and other commitments, but now things are getting more intense. I can imagine moving in with him. Sure, it might be a little strange to live in the same building as Jen, but we’ll manage. I am definitely getting movers this time. Maybe I’ll make Seamus Kool-Aid every morning. Perhaps sometime Tommy can come over for dinner and the two of them can talk about…okay they’ve got to have something in common. Me, they can talk about me. No, that won’t work. What can they talk about?

“What’s up?” Seamus asks. He squeezes my hand and puts it on his leg. “You all right, you seem a million miles away?”

“Oh, no,” I protest. “I’m right here. I’m just thinking about what a good time I had.”

I smile all the way to Queens. Then, he tells me that he is going to do a summer share in the Hamptons starting after the Fourth of July. I’ve never been into the whole idea of the summer share, but I kind of wish that he would ask me if I care or if I’m interested or something, but he doesn’t. I know a lot of partying happens at those houses in the Hamptons, and if we are getting closer and becoming boyfriend and girlfriend it might be nice to be included in his plans for the summer weekends.

“So you’re not going to be around at all on the weekends?” I try not to sound too desperate or hurt or anything that could be construed badly.

“No, it’s only half the time. A half share.”

“A half share.” It’s more of a repeat than a question.

“Yeah, you can even come out sometimes if you’re not busy. A couple of my buddies are doing it, too. I think it’s going to be a lot of fun. If I can’t spend the summer in Nice…” He tries to make a joke and laughs.

What am I supposed to say? Just when I think things are getting better, we’re back to square one.

“What? You’re not mad, are you?”

“No, of course not,” I say, and smile without opening my mouth. If he was Tommy, he would know I was. Not only am I furious, I am also a passive-aggressive doormat of a wannabe pseudo-girlfriend. And a coward to boot.

“Do you want to come over tonight? We could order some sushi or some Indian?” Of course nothing that he has to make. He can’t buy me. I will not be plied with food and sexual favors. Okay, I would if I thought this was actually developing into something. But is it? It’s not every date that we spend two nights in a row together? Maybe he needs time. No, fuck it. I have to be strong.

“No, I have to do some work.”

“Okay,” he says.

We don’t say much more until he drops me off at my apartment and he tells me that he’ll call. I give him a quick kiss on the cheek and try not to slam the rental car door.

Tommy isn’t home. I sit on the couch and try to find something on TV, but nothing is on. What’s the point of digital cable if nothing is on?

No boyfriend. No sex. No Tommy. No
X-Files.
No D batteries. Fuck!

And if that wasn’t bad enough, tomorrow is Monday.

I
get two disturbing e-mails first thing Monday morning when I am supposed to be reviewing a fine cut of Esme. This Esme will have no glasses, so I’m procrastinating for as long as possible before I watch my little blind creation.

The first e-mail is from Hackett. Oh, what a fine time for him to come back around. It isn’t just to me, but to the entire department. We’re having an off-site meeting at the Chelsea Piers driving range next Monday. The two words
team building
strike fear into my heart.

The company doesn’t have money for fresh milk in the fridge, yet we can afford golf at Chelsea Piers.

The strange thing about Hackett’s e-mail is how concise it is. He wants us to meet at Chelsea Piers, so he says it. As much as he drove me crazy, I miss the way he was so up front, unlike the queen of verbal vomit.

The next e-mail is from Delores. It’s in sharp contrast to the one from Hackett. From what I gather she wants me to come for a meeting in her office, but she can’t seem to tell me that without mentioning how important it is that we get “all buttoned up” about managing Janice and John. I think I’m read
ing into a subtext about their relationship. Today’s word of the day is
incendiary.
There is also a whole justification of her job in the form of how many hours she worked this weekend in her apartment even though she has no air-conditioning. I am not sure if this part is meant to be friendly.

I don’t bother to reply. I just can’t. I want a new job, but I can’t leave Esme. Esme is mine.

Instead of writing back, I just show up at her office at the appointed time.

“Hi,” I say, making an attempt to ignore the nausea that fills me every time I see her.

“Hi.” She is sitting in kind of a strange position. “Have a seat.”

“Did you have a good weekend?” I know the tone of her answer before I get it.

“Busy, but you know it’s to be expected. I’ve got to try and stop working until eleven.” I semi-ignore her. “So I realize we are having some human resources issues and hope we’ll be able to resolve them at the team-building meeting.”

I was surprised that she was owning up to our issues and also fearing the “work” we would have to do in front of the whole company. Ew. She was sort of arching all four feet, six inches of herself away from her desk in a way that didn’t look comfortable.

“I want you to take some initiative on the production of
Hannah’s Hacienda.
” She starts to shuffle papers around her desk without getting too close to it.

“What do you mean?”
Hannah’s Hacienda
is a show that we have been talking about for a while. It was originally called
Joanna’s Hacienda
and was supposed to promote diversity by taking an American girl from the city and sending her to live in Latin America. It is live action. One time it was on my plate when it was in animation. “Is it back to animation?”

“No.” She still strangely isn’t sitting close to her desk. Were we being bugged or something? “I just think that if you are going to be the executive producer your title says you are, you need to work on more than one show.”

“So this is a test?”

“No, this is experience you need.” She was looking at me as if she had already won some sort of battle. “You know that Jack Jones’s production company has expressed interest in this. We are already casting. You could oversee their production.”

“Whoa! What about Esme?”

“I’m sure you can handle both this and Esme. I have the directive from above, and if I were you I would choose your battles.” This is weird. I haven’t done live action and I probably could have figured it out if that was all I was executive producing, but not with Esme. It was impossible, and we both knew it. It was her way of getting me out.

Just fucking fire me,
I wanted to say.
Up and out, lay off, terminate me, whatever. I can’t take it anymore.

I don’t say that. I don’t say anything.

Finally I see why she is sitting so weirdly. She’s trying to get me to notice the card that she has propped up next to the bouquet on her desk. From Hackett.

How could he? Hackett was supposed to be overseeing the whole department, but he was obviously clueless about what was going on, splitting his time between London and New York. It sucked. And what was worse, Delores knew I saw the card—just what she wanted. She smiles.

“Now, we all know Jack is someone we need to impress.” Jack Jones had been a sitcom star in the seventies, and no matter how cheesy celebrities were, Explore! Network liked to be associated with them. The theory being it made us seem cooler when everyone thought of us as a dorky network. Fuck us! I’m not part of the us.

“Sure,” I say.

“So he’s coming in for a meeting with us and Hackett to
morrow at nine. You’ll want to be on time and do a lot of kissing up.”

“I’ll use my tongue,” I say, and walk out.

I really said that. I am so getting fired.

I walk by Don’s office and he’s on the phone. There is nothing worse than hovering around someone when they are on a call, but Don sees me and gestures me in.

“Does it seem like a problem, Kurt? Okay. Let me know.” He hangs up. “Hey, I was actually going to stop by your office after this.”

“Why?”

“Does your friend Jordan have a drug problem?”

I smile. “Well, no. I don’t think so. No more than anyone else.” I knew he smoked pot and there was some talk of cocaine when things went sour with Lauryn. I wasn’t sure how much I should trust Don.

“Okay. My producer, Kurt Cressotti, tells me he’s been showing up late and is kind of out of it.”

“Well, I guess sometimes he could be more responsible.” This is the last thing I want to hear. Don sighs.

“You didn’t come by to talk about this.”

“I just got put on
Hannah’s Hacienda.
”

“We’re actually doing that?”

“Jack Jones’s company is into it now.”

“You know how we love getting boned by celebrities.” I laugh at his crassness. “Talk about drug problems. I’ve seen the
E! True Hollywood Story.
”

“Apparently that’s all behind him and now he’s a perfect candidate for kids’ TV. And I’m executive producing. I’ve never done live action.”

“Are they trying to make you fail?”

“That’s what it seems like, doesn’t it?” I stare out his window.

“How are you?”

“I feel sick every time I come here.”

“You know, the exact same thing happened to me at Playtime.” He shakes his head.

“I just don’t know what to do. Should I quit?” I ask.

“That’s what they want. You can’t, or you’ll get no severance. It sucks. She’s been jealous of you since she got here.”

“That’s just it. I never was this kind of woman, now I’m turning catty—and I never did anything to her.”

“And she’s driving everyone crazy. Everyone hates her and everyone likes you. I’m glad I’m not a woman. Sorry.”

“Thanks. If everyone hates her and she sucks as much as we know she does, how come she’s here?”

“They’re never going to fire someone they just hired. With this whole merger thing, they’d do anything to avoid the bad press. They got to kowtow to the big guys at Indy Mutual, she’s from there. We just have to suck it up. I’ll help you with whatever I can. You need advice. Anything.”

“Thanks. It’s all such political bullshit.” I sigh.

“Rebecca, listen to me. No matter what, you can’t quit. They want that. They’re hoping you do. They’re never going to fire her. This is a test for you. If you quit you’ll get no severance, no unemployment. You cannot do it. You’ll lose too much.”

“What about my peace of mind? What about my stress level?”

“Look, it won’t be long now. Just hang in there.”

It seems like everyone knew I was being set up to fail. Throughout the day, different people came into my office and shut the door and told me they thought the situation was shitty. I didn’t believe that Don had let it slip to all these people—at least not this quickly. But things have a way of getting out. It was bizarre that it seemed so certain.

I appreciated all of the support, but I knew in the end there was nothing anyone could really do. In the end, all of this support was not going to stop me from getting up and outed.

I wanted to call someone—not Seamus—one of my girlfriends or Tommy. But, I knew that if I called one of them I would start crying on the phone. I promised myself I would never cry at work.

I start to look over all the paperwork I had on
Hannah’s Hacienda.
Why did everyone love alliteration so damn much?

I couldn’t really get that into it. I was going through the motions. It didn’t seem to make a difference what I did, so why should I try? The outcome would be the same no matter what.

Toward the end of the day, Delores peeks in my office.

“I’m not leaving,” she says. “I’m just going to get lunch.”

I know the correct response is to point out that it’s almost seven o’clock and isn’t she a little trouper for working so hard that she hasn’t had time to eat lunch?

But, I just nod. If this was what it was going to take to keep my job I was happy to get fired.

I check my cell phone. There is a message from Seamus apparently “just calling to say hi.” He has to work late. He hopes we can go out on Thursday.

I decide to leave early, but I take a bunch of my folders with me. I need to be prepared, just in case.

I think of something as I close the door to my office. I walk down to Delores’s office. I look at the bouquet. The card is no longer propped against the vase. That had only been for me, to prove something to me.

She really is threatened, the tacky, petty freak.

It’s still light out when I leave my office building. I don’t want to go home. I decide to go down to Lupa and sit at the bar and order myself a good fattening dinner. The place is crowded, but the maître d’ finds a seat for me at the bar pretty quickly. I order a little carafe of white wine and pasta
cacio e pepe.
It’s really a winter meal, but it’s comfort food. It’s so simple, pasta with pepper and cheese.

The only trouble is, there’s this lump in my throat that makes it hard for me to swallow. I push my food around my plate for a half hour when the bartender asks if he should wrap it for me.

“Please.” I decide not to get another drink, just the check. I walk home up Sixth Avenue. The summer city sky is turning pink. I walk past Bryant Park. Soon there will be free movies in the park on Monday nights. There are things I love about summers in the city. I must be happier, but I didn’t feel my emotions were under my control.

At the
Hannah
meeting, I’m completely out of my element. I don’t have the first clue about appropriate budgets for a live-action show and that’s what this meeting is about. Budgets and casting for a show that seems to have a sucky premise. I can’t believe anyone thinks we should actually be doing this show. Did I mention Jack Jones is a washed-up sitcom actor from the seventies who has decided to produce children’s television shows? I thought so.

He pitches his gig with a confidence that says he believes he doesn’t have to. He thinks it’s in the bag, which it is. Explore! is desperate to get the press that goes with partnering with a celebrity no matter how C-list they are. What’s worse, he’s asking for an exorbitant amount of money.

Delores is running the meeting and is doing her best to impress Hackett with faux efficiency and pedantic words. She manages to slip in one anecdote about Harvard, just in case Jack Jones wasn’t aware of her alma mater.

“Okay, we will have to revisit the budget at our next meeting, but it seems quite sound.” She is totally doing the “I’ve dressed up as an executive” act. She turns to Hackett. “Unless there is something else you want to add, Matt?”

Okay, that is offensive. There are only three of us here representing the network, and by not asking me if I have anything to add, she might as well send me out for coffee. Clearly the purpose of this meeting is to demonstrate that I mean nothing to anyone.

“Let’s move on to casting.” Jack Jones is one of those guys who is half-bald with a big potbelly, but still thinks it’s cool to have a long ponytail down his back. He plays with it constantly throughout the meeting.

“Right, well you know we were thinking ethnic for Hannah.” He spreads a couple of head shots of young attractive girls on the table. I reach for one of them immediately, ignoring Delores’s eye roll. I like to check out what else they’ve done. I’m slightly amazed by parents who have their kids acting at six
months—and a lot of these girls have been in the biz for as long as they could drool.

“That one is a front runner,” Jones says, pointing to the photo I have in my hand. “But we think she’s part Hawaiian, and you know what they say about Hawaiians. She’ll probably fatten up as soon as she sees the craft services table.”

I look up at him to be sure he’s making a joke, but he isn’t. I look at Hackett, who appears equally disturbed. Delores, on the other hand, is nodding.

“I don’t think she even really reads Asian enough,” she says. What the hell is “Asian enough”? I study her résumé. It says she was born in Japan and is fluent in Japanese. She lives in California.

“Um—” I say, trying to cut in. “I think she’s actually Japanese.”

I can’t wait to hear what they will have to say about Japanese.

“If we are going to go ethnic I think we should go Latin,” Delores says, ignoring me. She picks up a head shot. “Latins are very sexy right now. How about this one?”

I am disgusted. Did she read that in
USA TODAY?

“She’s part Indian and she can’t act. Of course, if you like her look we could have her play Latin and coach her.” Delores nods, considering.

“Excuse me.” Why am I talking? Why did I decide to open my mouth? This is the trap. “I think we should get the actress we think will be most accessible to the audience. Putting on weight isn’t the biggest detriment. I don’t know if the girls need to be a certain ethnicity….”