Up & Out (7 page)

“Another round of shots! I’ve got signing power!” I beat a drum on the table and knock over everyone’s drink. They groan, I laugh. I yell over the music, “Another round for everyone!”

I might as well enjoy it while I can….

The next morning, my head is pounding. I don’t want to push my luck, but there was no way I could get in before ten-fifteen. There is a scribbled sticky note on my computer from Hackett. It reads:

B, TTM Re: al—M

It was Hackett code. Translation. Becky, Talk to Me Regarding Everything, Matt. Great. I check my hair in my computer monitor and grab a breath mint. I sniff a strand of hair on the way to his office. So I might not be able to keep up the new hair, but it was still too short to absorb much smoke.

“Hi,” I say to Hackett when I knock. I notice he’s on the phone. “Oh, sorry.”

He shakes his head and motions for me to come in and shut the door. I hate closed doors. This is bad. He finishes up his call.

“Becky, I’m sorry about all this getting off track.”

“You mean with production. Yeah, well, all these meetings might affect our deadlines for season two.”

“Rebecca, I know you were tight already, but you’re going to have to make it.” He is calling me Rebecca; that is more serious than a closed door. “I’m going to be taking a position of greater importance in the company. I’m meeting with all the EPs to let them know. My replacement starts tomorrow. I would like to stay for your transition, but unfortunately Kristina Amos has left the company.”

How typical they get her to deliver the news and then they shitcan her. Great for morale. It is as if Hackett can read my mind.

“She got quite a nice package.”

“Where is Jen?” I ask.

“She hasn’t been feeling well. She’s young—you know how it is. She doesn’t understand that this is just business. In our industry these changes happen all the time.” Do they? Was I suddenly ancient?

“If you have anything you want me to approve before I go, please get it to me before five. I’m on the red-eye to London tonight.”

“Do you have to relocate?”

“It hasn’t been determined yet.” I realize that Hackett is a survivor. For all the gruffness and loyalty he may or may not have had, he was in it to get by.

I pass Don in the hall. We smile at each other. I remember him putting me in the cab last night; I think I held on a little too long when we hugged goodbye. But, we aren’t attracted to each other, we just had a lot to drink. He looks sheepish. He holds his fist out to me. It is a cheesy gesture, but I punch his fist with mine, just to say everything is cool.

“You were fun last night,” he says.

“Yeah, it was nice to blow off some steam.”

“I think we all needed it.” He nods solemnly. I liked him better five shots in. “You have your face time with Hackett yet?”

“Yeah.”

“Get that expense report signed before he’s gone.” He was right, of course. Who knew what we had to expect?

Back in my office, I take a look at the calendar on my wall. My deadlines are unbelievable and now I am going to have to negotiate them with some unknown person.

I leave Janice and John a message: “We are going out to lunch.”

T
ommy and I meet for a late dinner at the Greek place near our old (now his) apartment. I had this constant feeling of nausea, and only the avgolemono soup at Uncle Nick’s could cure me. I had been denied in Astoria, but Tommy was willing to go wherever I wanted.

I’m making it seem as though we are suddenly complete adults about the breakup, aren’t I? Don’t be fooled. I find myself wondering what boxers he is wearing and how drunk I can get him. Very, very bad.

We order a bottle of white wine and the four-dip sampler to start. Tommy requested the fish-roe dip,
taramosalata,
be on a separate plate. I wait on the soup order to give Tommy a chance to look over the menu again. We have been to this restaurant quite a few times, but he isn’t as familiar with Greek food as I am.

I’m not sure if I want the swordfish kabob or the moussaka. The swordfish is healthier, but how often could I get authentic moussaka? Never.

“Do you want to split an order of the potatoes?”

“Rebecca, I’m not that hungry and I’m trying not to spend too much.”

“Right.” Damn! He was going to be difficult. “Okay, we’ll skip the potatoes, but I’ll get the tab.”

“Rebecca, you don’t have to do that.”

“It’s no problem. Don’t forget I make the big bucks, and I suggested this place.” The dips and wine come. Tommy goes through the ceremony of tasting it. He prefers me to do it, but the waiter has poured it in his glass before we can say otherwise. Whenever Tommy tastes wine, he shrugs.

“I guess it’s okay.” The waiter pours some wine in my glass and more into Tommy’s. He holds up his wineglass to me. “To Indiana Mutual.”

“Please, Tommy.”

“Okay, to Grand Theft Auto Vice City.” I raise my eyebrows, but smile because he is in a good mood. “Do you want to make the toast?”

“Yes, to your new job.” He rolls his eyes. “We should celebrate.”

“Yeah.” We drink. He looks down at the little dishes of dip. He turns the plate so the eggplant dip faces me and the tzatziki and potato dips face him. He hands me the smaller plate of the fish-roe dip. “You can eat that stuff.”

I was hoping he would say that. I rip off some toasted pita and start to dig in. Tommy watches me eat.

“It really is good.”

“Right,” he says. Something is on his mind, but I am done trying to guess what is it. He is an adult, it’s time he learned to communicate. Besides, there is dip to eat and the waiter is back to get our orders. I feel a bit piggy when Tommy decides against another starter and gets a lamb kabob. I also order soup and moussaka (the moussaka here is so good, I couldn’t resist. I’m only human!).

They bring out my soup, and I start to slurp. It is chicken soup with lemon, egg and rice. Say what you will about matzo ball, that’s great, too, but this is the stuff.

“You really like it, huh? You’re, like, groaning.”

“Mmm.”

“So when is Lauryn leaving?”

“She said she will be gone by Memorial Day.”

“Wow! Are you going to get a roommate?”

“I don’t think I have the time to look for one. I should be working right now. I am so behind.”

“But can you afford it on your own?”

“I told you I make the big bucks.”

“Even with the changes at work?”

“Are you trying to rain on my lemon soup?”

“No, just asking.” He is infuriating. Why can’t he get at his own issues? I decide to try a different approach.

“You know, Lauryn’s therapist thinks it’s a good idea for you to get to the point.” He laughs, then quickly grows serious.

“Lauryn doesn’t really…talk about me to her therapist.” I really enjoy Tommy’s rare moments of paranoia.

“Yeah, she blames you for the breakup of her marriage.”

“Jordan and I did play a lot of PlayStation,” he says, laughing.

“Tell me about it.”

“Okay, I was wondering if you wanted to move back in.” I almost do Tommy’s favorite comedy move, the spit take. I don’t have to because his big statement was punctuated by one of the waiters lighting a plate on fire at the next table. We feel the heat.

“When you get to the point, you really get to the point, huh.”

“I’m not saying move in, move in.”

“What are you saying?”

“I am really short on funds these days.”

“Okay, and…”

“And you need to support your problem.” He gestures to my empty soup bowl. “You’re going to have less disposable dollars when Lauryn moves out. And we’re supposed to be friends.”

“Thanks.”

“And when Indiana Mutual took over CBB Federal they laid off like seventy percent of the workforce.” I was surprised that he had done his research. The waiter clears my soup bowl and sets down my moussaka. I close my eyes and inhale. I hear the laugh in Tommy’s voice. “You know, you’re crazy.”

“It smells delicious,” I say. I pour more wine. He wants me to move back in, maybe he wants other things. Maybe I do,
too. We broke up because he was the kind of guy who didn’t want to grow up at all. Maybe he is beyond that and this is the first step. He seems to guess what I am thinking.

“Of course, we’ll have separate rooms.” Of course? This isn’t going to be any fun.
Of course
it is the way it should be, but it isn’t any fun.

“You don’t live in a palace.” I take my first bite. I was a fool to believe I could have been satisfied by the swordfish kabob. It is a good meal, yes, but this is eggplant, ground beef and béchamel all in one delicious pasta shell. I wonder how you say
heaven
in Greek.

“No, but I would move into the computer room.”

“It’s the size of a closet. And then I would have to walk through your room if I wanted to pee.”

“I’ll move the computer into the living room. We’ll put up the screen.”

“I don’t know, Tommy. I think it’s weird if you don’t want to start dating again—not that I do.” I’m not sure what I want. Why does he have to be clueless on the things I need to know and decisive on what I don’t think matters?

“Of course you don’t. Well, just think about it.”

“I will,” I say. He has a point about money.

“Thanks for not saying no right away.” He pours the remainder of the wine in our glasses.

He begins to tell me about ideas he has for his Web site. He’s not giving up on it, he just isn’t going to devote as much time to it. The economy is shit and no one wants to know all his thoughts on comics, collectibles and video games. I tune out what he is saying and just keep repeating a mantra to myself.
You will not sleep with him. You will not sleep with him. It would be so simple and fun. No, no you must not sleep with him.

The moussaka is good, but filling. I have half of it wrapped up for leftovers that I will eat tomorrow when they introduce me to my new boss. I coax Tommy into ordering some rice pudding so I’ll be able to have a few bites, and we get strong Greek coffee. I need the buzz. I have to write two scripts.

After I pay the check, Tommy puts me in a cab. It is just past midnight, which I consider the cutoff of safe subway hours. Our goodbyes are weird now. We just kiss on the cheek.

“Thanks for dinner and for not saying no right away.”

“Yeah, I’ll let you know. Bye.”

And away I go.

In the morning there’s a knock at my closed office door. I hurry to slip on my shoes before answering. I am reminded of the evil banker in the awful commercial when I find myself having to adjust my line of sight downward to see a small thin woman extending her hand up to me.

“Delores Wagner. I am your new—” she hesitates, and I bend a little lower to hear what she is going to say. She finally settles on two words. “Creative Director.”

She is my new boss. I’m not intimidated because she is about four foot eleven. She has dark brown wavy hair with no particular style. I smile. “Oh, you’re the new Hackett.”

“Delores Wagner,” she says again. I notice she doesn’t really open her mouth when she speaks.

“Right, nice to meet you. I’m Rebecca Cole—” I, too, hesitate, then add, “the creator of Esme.”

She nods. I hated to be that kind of girl, you know the kind, the wear-my-résumé-on-my-sleeve kind, but somehow I think it is the right thing to do.

“So you work for Indiana Mutual?”

“We all do.”

“Right, but I meant—” she is already being condescending, but she is new and I am optimistic “—is that where you came from?”

“In production, yes. I created all the international advertising. I promoted the ads throughout the world. I am quite fluent in production.” Talk about wearing your résumé on your sleeve.

“So you came from Indiana?”

“The international headquarters are in Germany.” The banking industry is all new for me, but she speaks like I am a fool for not knowing where the headquarters are.

“Do you want to come in?” I ask, realizing our get-to-know-you meeting might be better in my office instead of the hall.

“You’ll want to meet with me later to go over the work you’ve done so far.” I will? “Right now I have a meeting with Joe Leissle.”

He’s one of the new big shots. I’m not sure what exactly he does or where he has come from or what havoc he is certain to wreak in my life, but I notice that Delores said his name with a combination of reverence and name-dropping attitude.

“Okay,” I say. “Do you want to grab lunch?”

“Thank you, but no. I have a working lunch with Claire and some others in Programming to go over our plan of attack for the new season.”

“Should I be in on that?”

“That’s not necessary. It’s imperative that I meet them to get buttoned up.” Oh, she works the office lingo, too. I am losing patience and I have too much to do to play games.

“So, okay, when do you want to meet?”

“Are you going to be here until six?” I am usually here much later than that.

“Yeah.”

“Let’s meet at six.” Now, one could argue that I said I was going to be here
until
six not
past
six, but I am a mere cog in the wheel.

“Great,” I say.

“You’ll want to bring me a thorough report of the progress you’re making on Esme and a complete production calendar.” Is that so?

“Great,” I repeat, trying to smile.

I go back into my office and shut the door. It is too soon to make judgments. I have to just work. My phone rings.

“Re, can you meet for lunch today?” Kathy.

“Oh, Kathy, I’m so busy. Can we do it later in the week?”

“Come on, I’ll come to you,” she says. Kathy works a few avenues over and we always say we are going to have lunch more, but our schedules never seem to coincide.

“I am
so
swamped.”

“We can just go to Prêt. It’ll be quick. I promise. I really want to talk to you.” She sounds desperate. It’s almost eleven. If I work for a solid two hours I could meet her for about twenty minutes. I probably should stay to show my new boss what a good worker I am, but I should also set some parameters—like, I won’t eat lunch at my desk every day….

“Okay, but I won’t have much time. I’ll meet you at one.”

At 1:12 I show up at Prêt à Manger. It’s gourmet fast food; you pick from a variety of fresh sandwiches and salads. Everything is very bright and clean. Kathy is waiting for me on one of the stools, her jacket over another.

“I’m so sorry. I have a new boss.” It’s a lame excuse, I just lost track of time. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I had to fight off some people for this seat. I got you a coronation chicken sandwich and an iced tea.” I smile. Fresh iced tea means summer is on the way. It was really sweet of her. I am the worst friend and I feel even worse for being late.

“I’m sorry,” I say. I start to pull out my wallet. She swats my hands.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s on me. You can get the next one.” I sit down and start to eat my sandwich. I am still tense from work—it wasn’t easy to just pull myself out of it and socialize.

“Have you talked to Beth lately?” Kathy asks.

“Not really, not since we went to that awful restaurant.”

“She’s been hanging with her too-cool-for-school music crowd.”

“Really. I just think she’s been weird.” I am almost done with my sandwich and haven’t tasted a bite. Kathy has barely begun. I need to relax. I still have fifteen more minutes of freedom.

“I just worry that no one is into my wedding,” Kathy says. “You’re so busy and Lauryn’s off to God knows where.”

“The Vineyard.”

“Right, and Beth is acting so strange.”

“Well, I’m into it, and I think everyone else is, too.” Sometimes white lies aren’t so bad.

“I think I’m going to ask my sister to plan my shower.”

“Are you sure?” Beth is the maid of honor. I knew Kathy couldn’t have wanted that.

“I don’t know. I just can’t deal with the drama. I’ve got drama. This is the biggest day of my life.” Kathy is a very cool friend, but when it comes to her wedding, she turns into a prima donna. I can understand Beth not wanting to deal, but she has to. I know what this is about.

“Do you want me to talk to Beth?” I shove the last piece of sandwich in my mouth. Feeling rushed is the worst way to eat.

“Could you, Rebecca? Would you?”

“I can. I will.”

“Thank you. It means so much to me.” She is gushing. I have seven more minutes.

“Do you want to split one of their cookies?” I watch her silently calculate if she can afford it on her diet. Then, she shrugs, nods and I buy one.

“So how is your new boss?”

“I don’t know yet.” I’m not going to jinx myself by giving voice to my concerns. “I have a meeting with her tonight.”

“Her? It’s a she?”

“Yeah, why?”

“How old?”

“Not very. I don’t know, maybe early thirties. Why?”

“Oh, girl,” Kathy says. “Be careful.”

For the rest of the afternoon, I couldn’t shake the hiccups I had from eating too fast. And I couldn’t stop thinking about what Kathy said. I assured her that our businesses, finance and entertainment divisions were two different animals. She kept saying it didn’t matter, women were women.

“But I’m not one of those women. I don’t care.” Kathy just shook her head and gave me a half of her half of her cookie.