Up & Out (19 page)

I like the control of planning the party and I’m probably the only one who has the time for it, but it’s a lot of pressure. I decide to just relax and go through the book until something pops out at me or inspires me.

I am almost done with the
R
section and carefully considering Ruby Foo’s when the phone rings. It’s Tommy. He’s very upset.

“Can you come to the hospital? St. Vincent’s. Jordan’s had an accident.”

The emergency room is hopping. There is no sign of Jordan, but Tommy is sitting with his head in hands. I sit down next to him and tap him on the knee.

“Hey.” He looks up at me. “Thanks for coming. Did you call Lauryn?”

“Not yet. I had to figure out what the hell was going on.”

“He was fucked up, punched his hand through a window. It isn’t pretty. Needed like twenty stitches. They got him in quick, because he’s losing all this blood. Also, they need to
see if he got a concussion when he fell over. He chipped a tooth.”

“What a mess.”

“Why don’t you call Lauryn?” Tommy asks me.

“To confirm the fact that Jordan is a complete waste of life?”

“Fuck, Rebecca, just call her and quit your judgments.”

“Tommy, I don’t care what Jordan does with himself, but I hate the fact that I’m here so I can break the news to Lauryn.” He doesn’t say anything, so I get up and go outside to use the phone. Paramedics are bringing someone else in. It’s loud. I decide to walk down Greenwich Ave and cross over to Perry Street. I sit down on somebody’s stoop, lean my head against the banister, sigh and dial the number. She answers, sleepily, on the third ring.

“Laur, it’s me.”

“Shit, it’s late. I got to be up at five.”

“Are you alone?”

“Yeah, but not for long.” She starts telling me about her phone call with the coed. I interrupt.

“Jordan’s in the hospital.”

“Is he okay?” I hear concern in her voice. “Is he alive?”

“Yeah, he punched out a window, has a concussion, broke a tooth.”

“And I’m supposed to do what?” She starts to get emotional. “Haven’t I had enough of his shit?”

“Yes, Lauryn, yes you have. It’s just Tommy asked me to call you.”

“Yeah, well, Rebecca, maybe one of these days you’ll learn not to do what the assholes want.” I don’t deserve that and we both know it, but she is hurting.

“I also thought you would want to know. I didn’t mean to wake you up.” Neither of us say anything for so long that I think I lost her. “Hello?”

“I’m here, Rebecca, and I’m sorry. I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do from here. I don’t know what to say.”

“I know. Do you want me to call you with an update?” She
lets out a sigh. I can hear her switching on the light, by her bed. I know I have condemned her to a sleepless night.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, I will.”

“Thank you. I mean it, Rebecca. I—” I hear a little sob that I know I won’t forget.

“I’ll call you,” I promise. There is a knot in my throat. I hang up.

Moments of clarity come at the weirdest times. It’s like being pregnant, you can’t just be a little pregnant and once you start to realize what’s been happening, you almost wish you didn’t. Jordan was sinking into a deep depression and he was trying to help himself out of it with various substances.

I thought of how he and Beth were MIA at the Fourth of July party. Maybe they’d been fucking, maybe they’d been doing other stuff. Shit! Any way you cut it, it kind of sucked.

Beth is in the waiting room with Tommy when I get back. She looks like shit. Her mascara is a mess and she is too thin. Her nose is red. When was the last time I really looked at her? She is talking really loud. Tommy is oblivious to everything.

“I can’t believe he did this. What an asshole,” Beth kept saying, over and over. I wanted to be anywhere but in this room, with these people.

“What did Lauryn say?” Tommy asks.

“To keep her updated.”

“She isn’t coming down?”

“What do you think, Tommy?” Beth says, with a tone I never could have used.

We wait three more hours, taking turns getting weak, cheap coffee at the deli nearby. Beth is wired, I am anxious and Tommy is quiet. A Dr. Shinners comes out to talk to Tommy about what is going on. He looks at me, and I know that he needs me to listen in, too. While the doctor is talking, Tommy holds my hand. Beth notices and shakes her head.

“We stitched him up, but we still have to do an X ray. I know there were a lot of drugs in his system and the cuts were positioned in a way that might imply intention.”

“What’s that in English?” Tommy asks.

“Do you think your friend was trying to hurt himself?”

“No,” Tommy says. He looks at me. “You don’t think?”

“No, not really,” I say. But the possibility was there, like my moment of clarity. It was more knowledge I didn’t want.

“Okay, well we definitely want to keep him for observation. I’d say at least twenty-four hours.”

“Okay, can we see him?”

“Yeah, but don’t stay too long. He’s in C.”

“Beth, you want to come?” Tommy asks.

“That’s okay, I’ll wait.”

“Beth,” he says.

“Let her, Tom,” I say.

“Yeah, Tom,” Beth says, mocking, “‘let her.’”

Jordan was still in the E.R., in a room with a lot of beds. He is staring up at the ceiling. He looks pale. He smiles when he sees us. His smile is vacant.

“How you doing, man?” Tommy asks.

“Oh, okay.” He looks at me. “I guess I can’t be Gus anymore.”

“No,” I say. “Now you’ll have to act with people.”

I wasn’t sure if that was the right thing to say. I meant it as a joke. Where was the handbook?

“Did you call Lauryn?”

“We couldn’t get hold of her,” Tommy says before I can react. Jordan turns away from us. He puts the arm that isn’t cut up over his face. I touch his hair. For once, I feel bad for him. Maybe he doesn’t know how not to be a fuckup.

“She isn’t going to come down,” Jordan says. He shakes his head. “I thought I could do anything.”

“I’ll stay tonight, man,” Tommy says. “I’ll stay with you.” He looks at me. “You should go home.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” Tommy lowers his voice. “See about Beth, okay?”

“Yeah. Bye, Jordan. Feel better.”

The sun is coming up as Beth and I catch a cab. We are sharing it up to my place and then Beth will go on to her apart
ment or to whatever trouble she can get herself into. The quilted carts are on the street. They are going to the corners where people will sleepily start their days. I feel like there is coffee coursing through my veins instead of blood and I wonder what is coursing through Beth.

“This is it,” I say to the driver. “Take care, Beth.”

I get out of the car. Beth tells the driver to keep the meter on and gets out, too. “Why the attitude, Rebecca?”

“No attitude. I just need sleep.”

“For the long day of unemployment you’ve got tomorrow,” Beth says.

“Beth, just go home.”

“Say what you want to say, Rebecca.”

“There’s nothing to say, Beth. I’m going to bed.”

“It wasn’t anything, you know.” I shake my head—I don’t want to know. “It was just fun, you know, one of the things we did when we were having fun. It doesn’t always have to be this big deal.”

“He’s Lauryn’s ex.” She shrugs. I turn my head and look down the street. I don’t want to see her in this light. “Lauryn is your friend.”

“It wasn’t a big deal.”

“Okay,” I say. “Okay, I won’t make it one. Bye.”

Back in my apartment, I crank the AC, put on the Food Network and wrap myself in a blanket on the couch.

Esme is tugging my sleeve again. Ever since I saw her on TV, she hasn’t talked to me, she just keeps coming into my dreams and running along next to me. Sometimes she dives into the Hudson River and I hear her laughing when I wake up, but today we are in a classroom.

“Do you want to go for a run?” I ask. She shakes her head.

“What do you want?” I’m not sure if I ask her or think it to her, but I know she understands. She speaks to me and her voice is husky, as I remember it. I listened to a million CDs until I found the voice-over actress with the perfect tween husky voice.

“I want you to meet my friend.” She points to a desk where a pale girl with red hair and a ton of freckles is sitting.

“What’s her name?”

“Kim.”

Esme’s friend smiles, revealing a mouth full of braces. “I like to cook.”

“Hi,” I say as I start to wake up. “It’s very nice to meet you—”

Tommy comes in and I sit up, startled. I mute the blasting TV. He hands me a white paper bag. I smell bacon inside it. I open it to find two bacon, egg and cheese rolls.

“Bless you,” I say. I smile, and make room for him on the couch. “How is he?”

“Okay. You know, there was no real reason for me to be there and I’ve got to go to work.”

“Yeah.”

“I started asking him about what was going on with work,” Tommy explains. “I told him he couldn’t fuck this up, but he just kept drinking. You don’t think he…”

“I don’t know,” I say really fast. “I don’t think so. It doesn’t make sense, but what do I know?”

We eat our sandwiches, watching the soundless chef, Sarah Moulton, make enchiladas. There is traffic outside. People are going places; we are here.

“I wish I knew what was going on with everyone lately,” Tommy says.

“Yeah, I know.” I put the last bit of my sandwich back in the bag. “Me, too.”

“What’s up with Beth?” She’s Tommy’s sister, and, in spite of appearances, still my friend.

“I don’t know.”

“It just seems like everybody’s making it up as they go along.”

“I think they are. Nobody seems to know what the hell they’re doing anymore.”

“What are we doing? What was that about?”

“Tommy…” It was too much. It was all too much. “I don’t know.”

He looks at me. We are sitting so close to each other. Anything could happen, but nothing is going to. “I feel so fucked up lately.”

“I know, I feel like for every one step forward there are two steps back. I just can’t figure out what it is I’m supposed to be doing with my life, with anything, with you,” I say. Then I tell him about how I rely on the memory of him coming to my planet when I am feeling down. I’m not sure why I tell him. I just feel like coming clean.

“I remember that. God, I miss the
X-Files,
” he jokes. “Come on, it’s true. You know what I remember? I remember driving back from Matt Miller’s wedding.” Matt was a friend of his and Jordan’s from school. “Lauryn and Jordan were asleep in the back seat. You were driving and ‘Pressure’ came on the radio. I said, ‘What must it have been like for Queen and David Bowie, both total nuts, to do that song together?’ And you said, ‘Yeah. God, they bring so much to the table, it’s insane.’”

“I remember that,” I say.

“Yeah, but then I said, ‘They are even better together.’ And you said, ‘Just like us.’ And then I kissed your hand and put my head on your shoulder and we just drove. And I was sure of everything then. I was sure of you and sure of my friends.”

What do you say to that? We don’t say anything. Tommy goes into his room and I stay on the couch for a while, but then I go into my room.

I don’t think we will ever get back together. I think I’m just going to have to accept that fact.

I
am flipping from Food Network to Sundance Channel, as usual, when I go past Explore! Family. Just to torture myself, I keep it on and watch some of the ads. I’m hoping they don’t show any promos for Esme, but at the same time, I kind of want to see if they will.

Instead I see a teaser for the launch of
Hannah’s Hacienda,
except now it’s called
A Home for Hannah
and the star is a very skinny blond girl. Apparently she is able to avoid the lure of the craft service table. Then there’s a promo that talks about Gus’s surprise family member. Jordan is smiling and dancing like nothing is wrong, like he is really psyched to be introducing all the viewers to his replacement. Don tells me that they haven’t cast it yet, so they are making it a mystery.

I shouldn’t be affected by this anymore. I have to learn to separate myself. Every time someone from Explore! calls me they always ask me if I mind hearing the gossip before they tell me. I never do, but maybe I should start minding. We’ll always be linked by those experiences, but maybe I should stop having them pull me back into the thick of it.

I accomplished a lot for an unemployed person. I have
planned Kathy’s bachelorette dinner to the satisfaction of her sister. I have a feeling that this weekend is more about her sister who just had a baby getting a “ladies’ night” than it is Kathy.

First, we are going to the Royalton. It’s a great white swanky space with strong, overpriced drinks. Then I made reservations at Blue Fin for nine-thirty. From there, I think I will take whoever is still standing (because I have a feeling these ladies are going to do a lot of early damage) to O’Flaherty’s Ale House. After all the chichi, I am going to need a bit of the laid-back pub.

But I haven’t just been planning social engagements, I also looked at a couple of trade Web sites on kids’ TV. The only articles are about violent boys’ shows. I hope that isn’t becoming a trend. Although, maybe I can pump Tommy’s new charges with info.

It’s almost eleven o’clock and I’m watching an Iron Chef marathon when Tommy comes in. He looks a little funny. For the past week he’s been spending a lot of time with the recovering Jordan trying to cheer him up, I guess.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” he says. I go back to watching my show. He is antsy. He keeps getting up off the couch and going into his room and coming back out.

“What’s tonight’s ingredient?” he asks.

“Pig intestine.”

“Ugh.”

“Yeah, and the competition is trying to make a dessert out of it. Apparently it lends itself well to pastry crust.”

“Ugh.”

“Did you see Jordan?” I ask, not taking my eyes away from the screen.

“No, not tonight.”

“Wow, you were mannying late. Don’t those parents ever come home to their kids?”

“I wasn’t there, either.” I look at him. He looks sort of weird.

“What’s wrong? Where were you? Why are you acting so funny?”

“Nothing. On a date. Because I don’t know what you are going to say.”

I don’t say anything. I listen to him tell me all about this nanny that he met in the park. Her name is Nancy and she is from California and she most likely has no hips (although he doesn’t say that). According to Tommy, she has no pop culture references, hates TV, never goes to the movies and only listens to classical music. She is a live-in nanny for twin toddlers on the Upper West Side. She’s also a music student studying the cello. She is twenty-three.

“I didn’t think we would have anything to talk about, but every day I see her in the park and we do.”

“How nice,” I say.

“We had lunch the other day and now we had dinner.”

“I guess breakfast is next,” I say, trying unsuccessfully not to sound bitter.

“I guess I shouldn’t talk to you about this, should I?” I shrug. This is kind of like those questions my old colleagues ask me. I don’t really want to know, but then of course I kind of do.

“We’re friends, right?” I say. Friends who slept together last week. “We should be able to tell each other things, right?”

“I’m glad you said that, Rebecca. No matter what happens, you’re my best friend.” He kisses my forehead and gets up and goes into his room.

I shouldn’t be surprised, right? I have no right to be upset, I know. I mean, he can’t be celibate for the rest of his life, can he? Could he?

I look back at the TV. The pig intestine pastry was not palatable to the judges. The Iron Chef is not defeated. Iron Chef—1. Rebecca—0.

I can’t resist stopping at Antropologie after going to the Union Square Market on Wednesday. I’ve been running for almost four weeks and I think it has shocked my body into changing. There is nothing drastic, but I feel a bit more solid. I am on a budget, but I have been so good and it’s been months since I saw the inside of Nobu. I need something, maybe just
a shirt that I can wear when I go out to Kathy’s bachelorette dinner.

I go right downstairs to where they have the sale stuff. I won’t be thwarted by the beautiful pink silk kimono dress I see in my periphery. I will only buy something that is marked down. I find a great red tank top with delicate beading at the neck, a deep blue shirt with sheer cap sleeves that is cut in an Asian style. I splurge on a regular priced pair of capri pants that someone put downstairs to trick girls like me into buying them.

I can’t try any of it on, because I am still super sweaty from running, but I am confident enough to buy the pants in my original size of ten and will myself into wearing them.

I go to the cashier and put all the clothes on the counter. When I look up at him, he looks like someone I know. Sometimes walking around the city, you see people that look like they may have gone to college with you or that you have worked with before, but you aren’t sure. This guy looks at least five years older than me, but he is so recognizable I say hi.

“Hey,” he says, as if he recognizes me, too. “How did that dress work out at the wedding?”

“No,” I say, “I think you’re thinking of someone else, but you look familiar to me, too. I’m Rebecca Cole.”

“Oh, Rebecca, hey,” the guy says, smiling. “I didn’t recognize you. It’s Paul Perry.”

“Oh, Paul! Hey.” I hadn’t thought about him since he called me at the beginning of the summer looking for a job, and I haven’t seen him since we worked together at ARCADE. We awkwardly kiss hello. I hope he doesn’t notice how bad I smell.

“How are you, Rebecca? What do you have, the day off?”

“I’m permanently off,” I say, laughing. His eyes narrow. “It’s okay. I got fired.”

“Oh, Rebecca, how awful. Were there a bunch of layoffs?”

“There were some,” I say, still smiling. “But I was the only one in production. I think I was a bit of a problem.”

“You? I can’t believe it.”

“Well, neither could I, but I guess I’m getting used to it.”

“Have you found anything else?”

“Um, no, not yet. I’ve still got another couple of weeks of severance.” Actually it runs out at the end of next week, but there is no need to alarm Paul Perry or work myself up into a frenzy when there is a possibility I might fit back into a size ten.

“Well, I’m sure you have a lot of connections,” Paul says. Then I know he is going to start fishing for some of those connections.

“So, you work at Antropologie,” I say. “You must get a great discount.”

“Oh, yes, the ladies love it.” Paul smiles a nervous smile. “And you know, it pays the bills. It gives me a chance to concentrate on my writing. I’m pitching a couple of shows….”

Paul starts talking and I sort of tune out as he rapidly recites his résumé. Is this what I am going to become? At the end of next week, CRAP!!! I’m not going to have any money except for the four hundred dollars I get every week from Unemployment and SHIT!!! Eventually that is going to run out.

Sure, I’m so sure I could work in retail, and wouldn’t it be great if I could get that silk kimono dress I ignored for a bazillion percent off? But FUCK!!! What the hell am I going to do with the rest of my life? I tune back into Paul at just the right time.

“…So, I’m certain that one of those ideas will sell. I would love to have you read it for some input. You know how great feedback can be. Maybe, now that you are unemployed, we could work on something together.” I know Paul would never be saying this to me if I hadn’t had a show on a network, but eventually people will forget that I had a show, and then what? Then no one will care about my opinion. Then people will be stepping over me on the street.

I’ve been living in a dream world. I’ve been a lady who lunches, runs, watches TV and doesn’t realize that it’s all about to end. What am I going to do?

“Um, Paul, you know what, I think I’m just going to get the shirts on sale and not the full-priced pants.”

Last year’s black capri pants size ten are going to have to be good enough for me. I was going to have to get to work on getting to work.

Thursday, I make a list of all the people I know in the industry that are at various networks. I organize them by who I suspect has the most powerful job and, thus, the most clout to help me. I have lost track of a lot of them, but maybe someone else will know where they are. I am not a good networker—I hate selling myself—but this is the way it has to go.

I call my first boss at ARCADE. He’s big at a women’s network now. I actually get put through by his assistant when I say who I am. I think my heart would break if I didn’t have any clout.

As a boss, he was okay. He definitely had some control issues, and now, when he hears my voice, he chuckles.

“Rebecky Cole…” He thought it was funny to call me Rebecky?!

“Hi, Jake.” When I got out of school and had my first job, I started out by calling him Mr. Sullivan and learned that didn’t fly.

“How are you?”

“I’m doing okay.”

“I read great things about Esme and I thought I taught that girl everything she knows.” I swallow, not able to mention that at twenty-seven, I’m actually a woman and I’ve taken responsibility for my own career up until now. So, I sort of laugh myself.

“Well, I was actually calling because I was wondering if you were hiring at all.”

“You’re not with Explore! anymore? I can’t believe Matt Hackett would let you leave.”

“Yeah, I got laid off.” Let him think whatever he wants about why. I hate pitching myself. “So I just thought I would give it a try.”

“Oh, Rebecky, it’s a tough time.” I think that even if he did offer me a job flat out I would have a “no Rebecky clause” written into my contract.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Well, we don’t have anything right now. Of course, you can send me your reel.” This is karma payback for the way I treated Paul Perry. I know that the reel is the kiss of never being called back. “Of course, if you wanted to pitch us some show ideas, I would love to take a look. Have you been developing anything?”

“Yes,” I lie. “But, nothing for your audience. Mostly kids’ stuff.”

“Well, if you can rework something or come up with a new concept, I’m always on the lookout. And I would do anything for my former PA.”

I love being reminded of my humble beginnings, but I guess this is the shit that’s par for the course when you are pounding the proverbial pavement.

“Thanks,” I say.

“Why don’t you give me a call in a couple of weeks or when you’ve fleshed out some ideas or even if you want to pitch your kids’ concepts. Maybe we can have lunch.”

“Okay, I will, thanks.”

Next I call Jennifer Juliano at Playtime Kids Network. She was on a list that Don gave me. I get her voice mail and I leave a stupid introductory message. I’m sure I sound like an asshole and all I really want to say is, “Please hire me, my severance runs out next week…please hire me.”

I work my way down the rest of the list, leaving either pathetic voice mails or making small talk with the live ones. No one knows of any jobs, but I wind up confirming “We should hang out soon” with a number of people who will probably never be able to hang out.

For the most part, no one gives me much hope about other jobs, although I do get more names of people to call who I have similar bleak conversations with.

Jennifer Juliano calls me back. I’m amazed that she would because she is the creative director at Playtime and you’d think
she would get one of her people to do it. She sounds really young and nice.

“I have to admit, I’m a big fan of Esme. The market needed a character like her.”

“Thanks.”

“I wish she didn’t lose the glasses.”

“Me, too—that’s part of the reason I’m looking for a job.” Why did I say that? I know that means I sound like I’m not a team player. I listen to see if Jennifer picked up on my subversive tendencies, but she seems unfazed.

“I will definitely consider you for any jobs that come up over here. I would love to get your reel. Also, if you have any show ideas, send them over.”

“Yes, I’ve been working on a few things.” What have I been doing with my summer? Why haven’t I been writing the next show?

“Well, we skew very boy heavy. And, don’t quote me, but the more aggressive and gory and gross the better.” I was afraid of that.

“It sounds wonderful,” I say. I’m sure she knows I’m full of shit. “I’ll send you my reel and then when I get my pitch concepts together, I’ll get those to you.”

We hang up. I plan to dig up an old Esme shirt (with glasses) and send it to her. I’m sure I’ll never be able to come up with a script that is violent enough. But, I can try. (Although I’m not sure I want to.)

I decide to go for a run. It is my favorite form of stress relief these days. It’s a hot August day, though, and I am huffing and puffing by the time I get to Thirty-fourth. I don’t stay out that long.

After I shower I turn on some music and sit at the desk in my room. I’ve got to just brainstorm about possible pitches. What the hell else am I going to do? Of course, I get distracted and start imagining scenarios where I do develop another popular show and wind up back in an office waiting for the next time I get stuck with a shitty jealous manager.