Up & Out (13 page)

I could go on, but I realize that Jack Jones is only interested in his ponytail because he already understands that I don’t have any say. Hackett is shuffling through papers uncomfortably and Delores has straightened her four-foot-five frame in the chair and is smiling ever so faintly.

I don’t say another word. I know I’ve done exactly what they wanted me to do, given them reasons for things they would have done, anyway. In the end, they go with a blond girl and decide to forget about having an ethnic lead. They’ll
make one of the teachers black. Maybe. It’s no longer that important to them.

After the meeting, I save a lot of my files to disk and plan to bring home a couple of things from my office.

Jen comes into my office, hopping from foot to foot. I assume she is going to offer me her support about what’s going on and spend a little time dissing Delores, but she is acting weird.

“Do you want to shut the door?” I ask. I go back and forth between wanting to just sit here all day with the door closed and feeling like I should have the door open and try to fool the world.

“Okay.” She shuts it and sits down in one of the chairs. She is fidgety.

“It’s going to be okay, Jen. Nothing bad is going to happen to you. You’ve got Hackett.” I try to keep my issues with her uncle out of my voice.

“It’s not work,” she says. “Are you still seeing that guy who lives in my building?”

“Seamus? Yeah.”

“It is Seamus.” She looks upset.

“Why? Have you seen him?”

“No.”

“What is it, Jen? You’re acting funny.”

“Well…” She starts to pick at her cuticles. “I keep seeing this girl in my building.”

She stops and sort of grimaces. I take a deep breath, not really sure where this is going, but suspicious.

“Today after I got coffee at the bagel store we met at, I saw her on the subway platform.”

“Who is she?”

“Her name is Petra.”

“Petra?” I don’t like the sound of this.

“I was friendly to her and we obviously recognized each other. ‘You live in my building,’ I said.”

“What did she say?”

“No, my boyfriend does.” I open my mouth. I close it. I open it again.

“And is her boyfriend’s name Seamus?” She nods.

“I’m sorry, Rebecca. I agonized about telling you this. I was hoping maybe you had gotten back with your old boyfriend.”

“I didn’t.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. I’m glad you told me.” I really am I guess. I just don’t know how to feel.

“I’m sorry, Rebecca.”

“I know. You said that. It’s okay.” She acts like she isn’t sure what to do next. I really want to be alone. “It’s
okay.
”

She takes the cue and leaves my office. I pick up the phone, intending to call Seamus. I could shoot this as a horror film or as a subtle foreign drama. I hang it up. I don’t want to deal with this right now. When it rains it pours. I’ll see Seamus on Thursday, we’ll eat a good meal and then I’ll get to the bottom of this. I can’t care about it much more right now.

We go to Blue Water Grill, because we can sit outside on the patio. I keep looking for some sort of sign from him. I keep trying to figure it out. Is he going to break up with me?

I’ve been running through this situation in my head a lot. No, I haven’t told any of my friends. No one knows but Jen, who has been hovering around me awkwardly. I guess it sucks to be her, too. It’s not easy to give someone such bad news. And yet, I feel responsible to her to get to the bottom of this, to dump his ass before he dumps mine. Jen knows I am seeing him tonight and therefore she is entitled to some sort of story.

Part of the reason I haven’t told anyone, I think, is because I want there to be a reason for this. I figure if I don’t tell my friends, they won’t think he’s a dick, and then remind me of it when I don’t want to hear it.

In spite of myself, I’ve played this out in my head in ways that actually absolve him. Like maybe there is another Seamus who lives in his building. Jen didn’t know my Seamus, before I told her about him, so maybe when I mention this to him it will all be a happy coincidence. Tomorrow, I’ll go into work and explain the silly mistake and we’ll laugh, ha-ha-ha.

Or maybe this Petra is a crazy stalker. Maybe they used to date and they broke up and now she just lurks around his apartment building. Seamus is just too kind to get a restraining order. Tomorrow, I’ll go into work and describe the girl’s tragic life and the honest mistake and we’ll laugh, hee-hee-hee.

It’s possible that he’ll completely deny it and I’ll believe him and go and speak to Jen tomorrow and she’ll tell me that she has this ear infection that she didn’t know about, which made her unable to hear things properly. When she heard Petra (whose name is probably Kendra) tell her she was dating Seamus she was really dating Raymond who lives in 3B. Jen will ask me to put drops in her ear for her, and I will, and then we’ll laugh about the crazy mistake, tee-hee-ha.

He is acting normal. During our chopped salads, he tells me about the process they use to make the blueberry vodka that’s in the delicious lemonade I’m drinking, which leads to a discussion about basil-infused olive oil. I’m following him and realizing once again that whenever we talk I just kind of listen to what he says. I don’t need to participate in the conversation at all for it to happen.

Something in me just can’t ask. Our three-tier tray of seafood comes out, full of oysters and shrimp and crab. He smiles and takes an oyster, chewing carefully. I think it might only be the idea of him that I am into. I
like
being with someone who knows so much about everything, dresses well and has buffed fingernails. No, I have to get to the bottom of this. I can’t just be cheated on and accept it. I can get over an idea, can’t I?

“What’s up with you, Rebecca?” This is the perfect time.

“Nothing.” I am a coward. No, wait. I have to do this. I can’t.

“Are you thinking about work?” For the first time in a while, I’m not. Maybe I should be getting dumped all the time, to take my mind off work.

“No, I was just—” Do it. Oh, I have a better idea—a test. “I was just thinking about our first date.”

“You were?” I think he’s squirming. I kind of like it. “We didn’t come here. Did we?”

“No.” The fucker. “Don’t you remember?”

“Was it Jewel Bako?”

“You’ve never taken me to Jewel Bako.” Is that where he took Petra?

“Look, kids on a rope.” I turn to look over the little bushes that separate us from the street and there is a group of children walking by with their hands on a big white rope.

“Weird.” This would be the surrealistic breakup film.

“Must be some kind of rich kids’ day camp at night.”

“Must be.”

“Only in Manhattan.” I nod. I want to get back to the business at hand. But he changes the subject. “Try the crab leg.”

I try it and it’s good and fresh and perfect for a summer day. But I am not going to be distracted by food. Not this time.

“Esca,” I say. “Don’t you remember?”

“Oh, of course. Sorry, brain freeze. Of course I remember now.”

“Really.” I know, I know. I’m playing a stupid game, but for some reason I can’t help it. “So who did you go to Jewel Bako with?”

“Um, must have been a client.”

“Must have been.”

“Are you finished with this?” The waiter is back at our table.

“Yes,” I say.

“No,” Seamus says, and grabs the last shrimp. “Okay, now we are. So, do you want to go up to the Boat Basin for a drink?”

“I know about your other girlfriend.” There. I said it, and now he has to confirm or deny. I’m ready. I think.

“What?”

“Yeah, a girl I work with lives in your building. Imagine that.” He swallows and picks up his butter knife. He is trying to figure out what to say.

“Look, we never decided we were going to be exclusive.” I see the waiter come over with the dessert menu and then pause awkwardly when he hears what Seamus is saying. I’d say that’s good service.

“We didn’t. We’re sleeping together. I didn’t think we had to be specific.” Seamus sees the waiter.

“Do you want coffee?” Seamus asks.

“Not right now.” I am getting angry. “What does she think about this? Have you been up front with her about me?”

“Brianna is very progressive.”

“Brianna? I thought her name was Petra.” He looks like he’s been completely caught. “Who is Brianna? How many are there?”

He sighs and doesn’t say anything for a long time. I think he is calculating and trying to decide whether or not to cut his losses.

“Listen, Rebecca, this is New York. I know I’m a catch. There’s not a ton of single straight men out there who know how to treat a woman. It would be selfish of you to want to keep me for yourself.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No, I’m just being honest. We’re adults.”

“You weren’t honest from the beginning.”

“We never made any kind of commitment. It isn’t my fault that you had the wrong idea.” He looks me in the eye.

At this point I’m thoroughly ashamed of myself. I realize I was hoping to get a feeble excuse from him I could accept. I can’t believe how desperate I was for a cool boyfriend. Apparently I’m not the only one.

“No, it isn’t.” I push my chair back and fish fifty dollars out of my purse. “Thanks for dinner and good luck with everything.”

“Rebecca, it doesn’t have to be like this. I don’t see why we can’t have fun together.”

I shake my head. “It’s still early, Seamus, you can catch that drink uptown with someone else.”

When I get home, Tommy is sitting on the edge of the couch playing World Cup Soccer. “How was your night?”

“Fine,” I say, and shut my door.

And, speaking of shut doors…on Friday at 4:00 p.m. the phone rings. I’m reading an e-mail from Kathy’s pregnant,
domineering sister about a shower. I check the caller display. It’s one of the guys from HR that I barely know. I pick it up.

“Rebecca, it’s Matt.” Hackett is calling me from Human Resources? And I know immediately when they call me down what is happening. I’ve known it was going to happen. You could say I was expecting it, but I realize now that there is no way I could have imagined how it would feel.

I
have an hour to clean out my office and put everything into the box provided. I send out a really quick e-mail with a new e-mail address and that I will no longer be at this number. Then my e-mail is turned off. It’s a good thing I have been cleaning out files for the past few days. There is a knock on my closed door. I think about not opening it (they may be coming to rush me out), but when I do, it’s Janice.

“What happened?” She sees my face.

“Come in.” She looks at the box and turns back to me.

“No!”

“It’s really not a surprise.”

“When?”

“Five minutes ago.”

“They waited until now, when a lot of people have left on their summer hours. Those fuckers! Are you okay?”

“Um, yeah. I’m a little in shock. I have an hour to clear out.”

“You’re kidding. An hour? Like you’re some kind of criminal? What did they say?”

“The word that Dwarf used was
terminated
. Hackett tried to
soften it by saying ‘let go,’ but she insisted on saying ‘terminated.’ Twice.”

“That fucking bitch. I am going to make her life miserable.”

“Well,” I say, throwing a few of Esme’s press clippings into a box. “Be careful.”

“Let them fire us. Let them fucking fire us all. That’ll be great press. Do you need to be alone or can I go get John?”

“No, get him. I’m just going to be packing up for the next half hour until they send the guards.”

“You think they’ll send guards?”

“Who knows?”

Janice leaves and comes back with John. He stares at me and shakes his head.

“Did you punch her? You could probably get away with it. Temporary insanity.”

“No, I didn’t say a word. I didn’t want her to be happier than she already was.”

“I didn’t tell Jen,” Janice says. “Should I? She knows that something is up.”

“Go ahead. It can’t hurt now.”

John starts helping me get my posters off the walls. The phone rings. It’s Don. One of his PAs saw me carrying a box into my office.

“What’s going on?”

“I have an hour to get out. I’ve been let go—” I correct myself “—terminated.”

He lets out a sigh. Up until this very minute I thought Don and I were only colleagues but now I realize that we are friends, and I’m glad because at this very minute I appreciate having someone who has been through this advise me.

“Okay, I won’t even waste your time telling you how fucked up it is. There are nights at bars for that. First thing is, did you get severance?”

“Yes. They gave me an offer and I have till Friday to sign it.”

“Good. Are you happy with it? You don’t have to tell me what it is, but I know a lawyer or two.”

“Of course you do.” I laugh. “I don’t mind telling you. Two months. Is that good or bad?”

“It’s fair. And what was the cause of it? I mean, we know what the real cause was, but what did they say on the papers?” John lets Janice and Jen in. I wave at Jen, who looks like she is about to cry.

“Performance. I guess the whole Jack Jones meeting. Or something.”

“Jesus. Okay, we are about to start shooting again, but listen, I’ll call you this weekend. This isn’t so bad. You were miserable and now you get two months off. Do you have savings?”

“Not really.” He gives me the number of an attorney who helped him negotiate a deal two networks ago. It’s worth a shot, I guess.

“Okay, well I’ll figure something out. Hang in, okay.”

“Okay, bye.” I hang up and Jen rushes over to give me a hug.

“I can’t believe this.”

“It was your uncle that did it,” Janice says, and I shake my head at her.

“Hackett was just going along with it.” I start to print things out that I hadn’t taken, while listening to Janice, John and Jen talk about how much this sucks. I am glad to be leaving with so many people thinking it’s wrong. I just want to be done with everything and never see this place again.

“Do you want to go out for a drink?” Janice asks.

“Or five,” John adds.

“No, I think I just need to get home.”

“Do you need us to help you?” Janice asks. I have this feeling they think I’m going to slit my wrists or something.

“Yeah, I can carry whatever you need home,” John says.

“Honestly, I’m fine. I’ll grab a cab. It’s all good.”

“I can send stuff to you on Monday,” Jen says.

“Okay,” I say. “That’s good. I’ll give you whatever I can’t take now.”

“We should let her be alone for a while,” Janice says.

“But call us if you need us,” John adds.

They leave my office and I worry that they need more com
forting than I do. Maybe I’m not seeing the whole picture, but I just need to get through this hour and then I will let myself react however I need to.

I say goodbye to them on the way out. They still seem upset and keep trying to get me to go out for a drink. I give Jen a bag of tapes and scripts and give everyone a hug. I fear Jen is the one who is handling it the worst, because Hackett was involved.

I get into the elevator and two of Don’s team members are in there talking about me and looking upset.

“Are you all right?” one of them asks.

“Yes, thanks.”

“Don told us. It really sucks.”

There are a ton of people I will never get to know and these two guys are two of them. How will I ever meet anyone if I don’t have a job? Will I wind up on the street? No, I just need to get out of here.

I stop on the human resources floor in order to drop off my ID card so I can’t break into the building.

I am certain you will do this all with the dignity I have always known you to exhibit,
the human resources guy said when he told me I had an hour to clear out. I don’t think we had ever had a conversation before that except when I wanted to find out if my dentist was covered in my insurance plan.

I could take a cab, but then realize I should start saving money. Although I deserve a cab, I take the subway and regret it instantly because it is so muggy down there that I get a headache. I get dirty looks from people because of my big box. In New York, big boxes and bags on the subway rank with golf umbrellas on the sidewalks. You just shouldn’t go there.

I look up at an ad for the NYC Teaching Fellows that says, “Nobody ever goes back ten years to thank a middle manager.” No, they certainly don’t.

My shirt is drenched in sweat by the time I get outside again. I am panting as I walk up the five flights to my apartment, but all the while grateful that I moved in here when I had the
chance. I might have slit my wrists if I had to worry about $2,500 a month on my own.

Tommy is—can you guess?—on the couch playing the Spider-Man game. Last night he opened another level, so now he has the fever. He shouts hello. I drop my box in the hall. We need an air conditioner. We will not last the summer at home together without it.

“It’s hot out, huh?” he asks, glancing up at me. “What did you do, walk home?”

“I got fired.” He actually stops (not pauses) the game and stands up.

“Are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” I say. Then I sit on the floor and start to cry.

Tommy buys an air conditioner first thing Saturday morning. It’s there when I wake up. He is off for the weekend and I hear him calling all the guys he was going to have over for some kind of PlayStation tournament to cancel. I appreciate that. I make him stuffed banana French toast out of challah bread. I’m unemployed now. I will cook.

We sit on the couch for the entire weekend watching movies, ordering takeout and playing the boxing video game. We do not talk about my job. I do not check my cell phone. And, in case you’re wondering, we do not have sex.

Monday is my first official day as an unemployed person. Tommy has to work at the store. He promises to bring home some movies. I make a pot of coffee and watch
The View.
I don’t even want to think about getting another job. Ever. I can live like this; relaxing in the air-conditioning, watching
The View.
We’ve got cable. I can start icing my coffee. It will be great.

There are several messages from people I work(ed) with. Everyone recaps the Monday morning meeting that Hackett attended and how the news was announced as if I decided to leave on my own, even though he knows very well that everyone knows that isn’t true. Each person has a different choice word for Hackett and Delores and everyone reiterates how low
morale is and how they will never look either of those two in the eye or help them if they see them lying in the street. I think about taping all of these messages and doing some kind of experimental art project. Maybe that is how I will earn my living.

Each message ends with “we have to get together soon.” And I count my blessings that I work(ed) with such amazing people. In retrospect I feel like a gladiator who was cheered as I went into battle to get decapitated. I guess that counts for something, right?

I have yet to inform anyone other than Tommy or people I work with about the news. I give myself one more day of sloth and watch all three
Back to the Future
DVDs with Tommy.

On Tuesday, I reorganize the kitchen cabinets and clean the toilet. I return all of my work phone calls. The latest news is that Claire Wylini is on temporary disability for some suspicious back problem, but everyone knows she is getting fired. I return the calls from Kathy and Lauryn who each left me confused messages after I sent the e-mail about my change of contact info. I also tell them about the Seamus situation—or lack of one.

“It sucks about your job, but that Seamus sounded kind of like a dick, anyway. I think you were just transitioning,” Lauryn says, using that funny businesslike word. “Why don’t you come up here in a couple of weeks?”

“It’s tempting, but I should probably start looking for a job.”

“Are you kidding? Just enjoy yourself. It’s like free money. I wish I had a job to get laid off from.” This from a girl who is spending the summer on a vacation island looking at birds. I assure her that I’ll consider it. I’m still kind of reluctant to make any plans, although if I did get a job my severance would stop. And I intend to make Explore! pay for every last bit of my termination fee.

Lauryn sounds happier than she has in years. She fills me in on her days of sun, birds and seafood. I promise to go visit.

“I got canned,” I tell Kathy. She gasps.

“Oh, honey, are you okay? You kind of knew it, though. You were kind of prepared, right?”

“Well, I guess so, but it still felt weird to have only an hour to clean out my stuff.”

“I know,” she says. I think this is sort of par for the course in her industry. “Now you can be a lady who lunches for a while.”

That does sound sort of intriguing, although in this town it takes money to lunch. Kathy is full of self-serving ideas.

“Now you can be one of those people who go to Bryant Park at like three o’clock with a big blanket to stake out a good spot for the Monday-night movies.”

“Great.”

“Maybe you can even run some wedding errands for me!” Kathy sounds like she is getting ahead of herself.

“Um, we’ll see about that.” I tell her about Seamus and she seems a little distracted. I think I hear her lightly tapping her computer keys in the background.

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that, honey.” I know that she is sorry for me, that is, because she thinks that at twenty-seven, we are bordering on being old maids. “Let’s try to get together next week, okay? I want to talk to you about the rehearsal dinner.”

“Okay, sure.”

“Did you call a lawyer? You should call a lawyer, just to make sure you can’t do something to the company you gave some of your best ideas to. You created Esme, for God’s sake!”

I get Beth’s voice mail, which doesn’t surprise me.

“Hey, it’s me. I’m just calling to give you the details about my layoff. I’m okay, but if you want to reach me, call me at home or on my cell.” I don’t mention anything about Seamus because I haven’t really told her anything about Seamus since I felt weird with the whole Tommy thing. I wish Tommy and my breakup could be a nonissue between Beth and me—in the same way that our dating didn’t matter to her.

I call the lawyer, Kraig Hitchcock. He’s a friend of Don’s. I’ve never had to call a lawyer before. I’ve never gotten arrested or divorced. I’m starting to think I should have worked out some legal recourse when they decided to make Esme into a
series, but I was just so excited about the fact that my idea was going to be a show. I was naive, and now I’m paying for it by not getting paid.

I explain the whole story to the lawyer, who listens kindly and sighs at the appropriate times. I tell him I have until Friday to sign the severance agreement, which stipulates I can never sue.

“It’s unfortunate that you didn’t consult an entertainment lawyer when this series of yours got picked up.”

“I know.”

“Basically, you believe you got fired because your new supervisor is an incompetent drama queen with a Napoleon complex…” He’s quick, but I guess I didn’t mention that she probably made a deal with the devil in the dark forest or wherever the hell she came from, but it seems pointless now.

“Yeah, basically, yes.”

“Unfortunately, Rebecca, I’m going to urge you to sign. Two months is fair. Unless you feel you were sexually harassed or discriminated against, there is not much you can do.”

“Um, can I be discriminated against for being tall, efficient and hard-working?” He laughs.

“Unfortunately, that isn’t how the law works in wrongful termination.” I notice he uses the word
unfortunate
or some form of it a lot. I think that’s a lawyer trick to make the situation more benign than it is.

“So, I’m basically out of luck.”

“I know your pride is hurt, but you’re in a better position than most. And you know what? You can still walk down the block to another kids’ network. You sound pretty young. I would advise you not to burn any bridges. You may wind up working with these people again at some point.”

“No, thank you.” I immediately regret being so insolent. “Thanks for the advice.”

“No problem.”