Up & Out (8 page)

Back at the office, my e-mail double-dings, which means that someone has sent me an urgent e-mail. I’ve been ignoring the single dings all day to get stuff done. I see that I have ignored twenty-three messages and the newest double-ding is from Delores Wagner.

It annoys me that she assumed I could just rework my schedule to accommodate her. And who is she, a fire chief? I expel a long breath and vow to not let her get to me. At seven, I print out a document Hackett had used to present to the big guys and grab my scribbled-on production calendar.

I pass Claire on the way to Hackett’s old office.

“Hey, you,” Claire says. She gestures down the hall to what is now Delores’s office. “She’s great, isn’t she? She’s got a ton of ideas.”

I nod and say good-night. This ass-kissing is going to have to be par for the course for a while. I knock on Delores’s door.

“Hi, there,” Delores says. She is perfectly welcoming. Perhaps I was judging her too quickly. She could be the mentor I’ve been longing for. Everyone always talks about mentors, but nobody ever seems to be one or know one. It is a lot like hermaphrodites; you hear about them, you just aren’t sure they exist.

“How’s it going?”

“Well it’s obviously going to be trial by fire, but that’s to be expected.” If she is going to be my mentor, I wish she would just talk like a normal person. I listen politely as she gives me a rather involved anecdote about her first days in Germany. She worked in a place called the Black Forest and throughout her story I find myself imagining her as some sort of hermaphrodite fairy, only animated. I need to start getting more sleep.

“So did you bring those documents I asked for?” I hand them to her. She rifles through them and shakes her head a little.

“Do you think you could get a cleaner copy of this calendar? It’s very hard to read.”

“Okay, the thing is, it gets updated every day.” She nods.

“I realize that. I think I would like you to set it up as an Excel file, so I could just look down the list and see when scripts are in, et cetera.”

“You want me to set up a whole other document.”

“Yes, and this…” She holds up the document Hackett created that we used as a template to work up story ideas about Esme. “I don’t understand it.”

“Actually, that’s something Hackett did.”

“Oh.” That apparently satisfies her, but I wonder if it is because Hackett was still in the company and pretty high up. “Well, I’ll take another look at it tonight. Do you think you can get me that calendar ASAP?”

“Yes, I’ll do it tonight.”

“Wonderful. I wanted to talk to you about Esme’s animation.”

“What about it?”

“I think it looks a little pedestrian.” I feel a knot rising in my throat. Does she realize that Esme is my baby, that I had initially animated her? Immediately, Delores’s itty-bitty hands go up and she starts making big apologetic circles. “I’m not saying I don’t like it.”

“You’re not?” I hear a little fake sarcastic laugh escape my lips. It isn’t a sound I usually make.

“Of course not. What I’m saying is that maybe it could be a bit more stylized.” We are making this for kids. I thought that was clear.

“Well, that’s the style.” I feel myself about to say something I never dreamed I would. Eccchhh! I feel dirty already. “They loved it in the focus groups.” Have my senses been impaired by saying something so foreign as “focus groups”?

“I’m sure they did, but maybe we should talk about doing our animation in Korea.”

“Wait a second, what?”

“I just think they might do a better job.”

“But what about Janice and John—and me, for that matter—when I can do a great job.”

“But it might be a wiser economic choice to do it in Korea.”

“We could bust the budget on FedEx.”

“It worked fabulously when I was at International.” I want to tell this dwarf that we aren’t doing commercials for international mutual funds, this is kids’ TV. She is obviously unfamiliar with kids’ television. “They do real sexy stuff.”

I get what Tommy used to call the douche chills, a shiver that comes from hearing something really gross. For him, the word
douche.
I never understood what he meant until this very minute. Why is she using the word
sexy
to talk about an animated show for girls? It is gross. I take another breath and decide to try another approach.

“I just think the Korean animators might have trouble with Esme’s voice.”

“We have voice-overs for that,” she says condescendingly.

“I’m not talking about audio.” I stop and swallow. My voice is getting too loud. “I mean they won’t
get
Esme.”

“Well, I’m not saying that we have to make these decisions now.” You’re not? “But you’ll want to think about being able to put together a good case for keeping the animation domestic.”

I will? Does she ever fully open her elfin mouth? I have no idea what to say.

“Okay,” I finally settle on. “I’ll get you that calendar.”

“Thanks. And have a wonderful night.”

And so as if I didn’t have enough to do, I created a worthless Excel document. Where the hell is the Black Forest, anyway? Is it in Middle Earth? I think about calling Tommy to vent and tell him I am working for a Hobbit. A mere mention of
Lord of the Rings
would be like talking dirty. Maybe he will take pity on me and give me some oral pleasure.

No, no. I must push these thoughts out of my head. I am never having sex again. Wait, maybe I could move in and molest him in his sleep. That would help me relax. No, fuck, I have to work on making a case for Janice and John to keep their jobs. Who the hell is this chick? I decide to procrastinate even more. I call Lauryn on her cell.

“Hey,” she says, recognizing my work number on the caller ID.

“Where are you?”

“At a birding event.” It was too bad to be untrue.

“Does Delores mean pain in Spanish?”

“I’m not sure. I kind of have to go.”

“Want to grab a late dinner?”

“No, there’s food here.”

“What?” I ask, giggling. “Chicken?”

“I’m hanging up now.” And she does.

I am starting to get hungry. My lunch hiccups have finally subsided. I think my system went into shock when I said “focus group.”

I could stay here and work on my scripts and order in or I could go home and work on my scripts and eat something alone. Neither is very enticing, but I am anxious to get into my sweats.

On my way to the subway, I check my cell messages. I stop in the middle of the street when I hear the first one. It is Seamus.

“Hey, Rebecca. I waited a few days, but you still haven’t called me. I had a terrific time the other night and I was hoping you did, too. I was hoping we could go to Tabla Bread Bar this week. I don’t know if you’ve ever been there, but their small dishes are all incredible.”

He is making my mouth water. I can’t believe he called me. It is 9:40 p.m. He left the message at two o’clock. I shouldn’t call him back tonight—I’ll call him tomorrow. I can’t believe it. I forget all about Delores.

I hop on the subway, praying that there aren’t any delays. I need to get to Whole Foods before they close at ten o’clock.

I make it just under the wire. The security guard shakes her head at me and they make the final checkout call over the PA. I go straight to the fish department and order a pound of cooked shrimp. The fishmonger gives me all that’s left and it’s exactly a pound. We both laugh when we see the scale.

“You are a lucky lady,” he says.

“Yes, I am,” I say, imagining the crispy fried onions at Tabla Bread Bar. Oh, I have been there, all right, but I couldn’t wait to go with Mr.-Sophisticated-New-York-Wine-Guy Seamus. I am a lucky lady and I am getting lucky. A straight New York male is interested in me, despite my obvious shortcomings. I will not freak out without my shirt on again.

“You having a party?” the fishmonger asks.

“Sort of,” I say.

After I got some parsley and sparkling water, I brought the fish back to my place. I love to eat, but I hate to eat alone. So sometimes I like to add a little ceremony to my solitude.

When I get home, I change into my sweats, put a little D’Angelo on the stereo and take out the silver platter Lauryn got for her wedding and arrange my shrimp cocktail around the center dish of cocktail sauce. I garnish with parsley. I pour my sparkling water into a champagne glass (another gift someone was regretting giving the couple now) and dance my way into the living room. I eat all twenty-three of my shrimp and thoroughly enjoy my cocktail party for one. There is plenty of time for friends and boys. This is me time. I am proud of myself and my work. No one could make me feel otherwise.

When the CD ends, I make myself some cocoa with schnapps and watch the eleven o’clock
Friends
episode.

There really isn’t much more I can ask for.

L
ife is funny. One night you might be sipping sparkling water and eating shrimp by yourself and the next night you could be getting served crispy, Indian-fusion delicacies while a hot guy rubs his knuckles along your neck and buys you expensive big-girl drinks called Tablatinis.

One night you might be considering a booty call to your recently exed boyfriend and the next you might be worried that all of the West Village might hear you getting down with the new guy.

So yes, my life is full of surprises and some of them are very, very nice. For example, I never expected to be back in Seamus’s apartment, but it didn’t matter, I was having a good time.

Okay, so it was kind of weird afterward…you know,
afterward
…and I wasn’t sure if I should stay. I couldn’t really look him in the eye as I rehooked my bra. Seamus suggested I stay but I left. There are things you have to try to hide with someone new as long as possible. Frankly, I was tired of trying to position myself so Seamus would get my best angle.

“Did you?” he said throughout the whole thing. “Did you yet?”

It was a lot of pressure. Now, I certainly appreciated his efforts, but it takes some time for me to relax, you know. The night had gone so well and I guess I thought I might ruin it, by, I don’t know, screaming Tommy’s name (I swear I didn’t think that much about him this time) or making some ugly face, or God knows what. But I didn’t. Ruin it, that is. That’s why it’s better to quit while you’re ahead.

All and all I felt I crossed a bridge of sorts. I was now a single woman and back in the saddle. I held my head up high when I crept out of Seamus’s building and quickly hailed a cab.

Lauryn is up working on an essay when I get home. She is also smoking in the house.

“Are you taking that up again?” I ask.

“Why not? You want one?”

“I did just have sex,” I say. She holds up her hand limply and I smack it five. We smile. I take a cigarette. It makes me feel a little sick, but I work through it. I have just had sex, I am entitled.

“How was it?”

“It was fun.” She raises an eyebrow. I know what she wants. “No, I didn’t, but it was still fun.”

“Working that Tommy out of your system?”

“I’m trying. I know it’s over. It’s just not easy.”

“I know. I heard about his offer. You want a drink? I can’t write this stupid essay application crap anymore.” I probably shouldn’t, I have work tomorrow, but it has been too long since we hung out like this. I can’t resist.

“Okay, just one.” I watch her pour some Stoli Vanilla into a glass and add some ginger ale. “Nice. Did you talk to Tommy?”

“No,” she says. “Beth.”

“Really?”

“She’s getting into an interesting crowd.”

“Those studio people.” She nods and taps her nose.

“Is she okay?”

“I guess so—you know Beth.” I do. Everyone thinks Beth is Italian, but she is first-generation Portuguese. In Beth’s fam
ily, her brother Tommy is the star. Their parents are straight off the boat from the Azores, and the only reason Beth was able to move to New York City was because Tommy was going to be here. Her parents assumed he would keep her out of trouble. They never had a problem with my relationship with Tommy, but Beth could never admit to having a boyfriend. She is expected to date the man she is going to marry. It sucks, but luckily she has a good relationship with Tommy and he helps her out all the time.

“What did Beth have to say about Tommy’s offer?” Lauryn shakes her head and rolls her eyes, so I know that Beth believes I was wrong for even entertaining it. Things were cool between us when Tommy and I dated, but as soon as we broke up, Beth took his side. Even though he isn’t angry at me, it seems like she is sometimes.

“You know Beth,” Lauryn says again. “What are you going to do about it?”

“I don’t know. Economically it’s a good choice, but emotionally…”

“I’ll say. Although Kathy is worried that they are going to do layoffs.”

“Who?” I ask as I pour some more vodka in my glass. I was far gone now.

“Indiana Mutual.”

“I’m sorry, but aren’t you the girl who expressed dissatisfaction with people talking about you behind your back?”

“Rebecca, don’t worry about it. I realized today as Kathy was telling me how pissed off she is at Beth for not going to the fitting that we just like to talk about one another. It’s part of our friendship. So go ahead, talk about me if you want. My life is an open book.”

“How generous,” I say. She nods and pours more vodka into her glass. I was never going to get up tomorrow at this rate. “So have you slept with anyone since Jordan?”

“Well, other than the night that I went out and got completely shitfaced and fucked the bartender at Roxy’s—Rest in Peace?” We give Roxy’s its appropriate moment of silence. We
had to ban Roxy’s after that. It was a forgivable sacrifice because Lauryn discovered the extent to which Jordan was cheating on her. “This box is locked. I’m done with men until they start acting like the rest of the human race.”

“Maybe one of those plover lovers in the Vineyard will open it up for you.”

“Birders are old.”

“You are a divorcée.”

“I know.”

“I don’t get it. Aren’t things supposed to get easier when you’re older? You know, like aren’t I supposed to be nearing my sexual peak?”

“In like another twelve years. You faked, didn’t you?” She is not exactly accusing.

“I kept trying to clear my head and get into it, but it was so weird to be with someone new. I didn’t purposely do anything. I just let him believe he was on the right track.”

“Well, make sure he finds the right track.”

“I will, when I feel more comfortable.”

“You’re going to miss me, aren’t you?” She smiles and exhales a smoke ring and I see a flash of one of her old school funny faces. I am going to miss her. She holds up her glass. I clink it.

“Of course I am. Without you New York’s just a cold, friendless city.”

I regret only getting three hours of sleep after I have to sit through a two-hour meeting with Licensing and Delores Wagner. Why can’t people just do things and make everyone else deal instead of meeting and pretending to care what everyone else said and then just doing what they want, anyway? And because Delores was name-dropping about various executives, all the licensing people felt they had to name-drop, too.

I hate the outfit that Esme was wearing on the sample plush toy. There is a part of me that is excited that Esme even has a plush toy, but at the same time she looks hokey. And I was expected to be happy that the Esme sample was created by some
one who one time cleaned the bathroom for someone who worked on a sample of Snoopy or something.

The Stoli Vanilla hangover was making everything very hazy.

Don Beckford is creating quite a ruckus about the size of Gopher’s teeth on his plush toy. Delores continues referencing anecdotes from her old job. She has a tendency to talk a lot without really going anywhere. She reminds me of one of those tops that just goes when you pull the string. She lets it “slip” that she went to Harvard.

Don, who is sitting next to me, elbows me so I would read a note he wrote on his production calendar. “Where’s she from?”

I write, “A forest. Germany.”

He laughs and I write, “Seriously.”

“I think we should lose the glasses,” Delores says to the designer. I tune back in.

“We can’t lose the glasses,” I say. “They’re Esme’s trademark.”

“I just think kids like to see characters’ faces.” Where is she getting this from? And why does she feel she can speak with authority about what kids want?

“I think the glasses came out fantastic,” Carl, the head of Licensing, says.

“Well, I’m not saying that they didn’t. I’m just not sure they’re working for the brand.”

“It’s a kids’ brand. Kids wear glasses,” I say, feeling Don kick me under the table. Here we go again: “And they loved it in the focus groups.”

“Well, we’ll have to make a decision about this ASAP,” Delores says. I think one had been made. “For now, let’s talk about the game tie-in.”

After the meeting, Don pulls me aside. “That didn’t have to be that long. I asked about her and no one knows who she is.”

“She’s from abroad.”

“She’s full of shit and she confuses everyone. I’ve had hit shows. I’m not going to deal.” I notice that when someone new
comes around, everyone has to justify their jobs. “But watch yourself.”

“Why?”

“She asked me about your other show experience when I went in for my meeting with her.”

“Why would she ask you?”

“I don’t know.” I’m not sure I can trust Don. “I told her that everyone thought you did a really great job and Esme was your creation. And it’s true.”

“Well, thanks. What did she say?”

“Nothing, she went off on some rant about Gopher’s curriculum. They expect kids to learn lessons about morality from a talking gopher.”

“How’s Jordan doing?”

“So far, so good. It’s to be expected. He’s too much of a nobody to be a prima donna.”

“Right.”

“No offense.” I shrug. I hated Jordan after the way he treated Lauryn, but I felt a little bit protective of him. Kids’ TV is tough business. It chews people up and spits them out. “Anyway, make sure you hold your ground.”

“Okay, thanks.”

That doesn’t make me feel confident. Neither does John standing at my office door holding an e-mail in his hands.

“What is this?” I take it from him. It’s a long-winded e-mail from Delores with notes from the tenth and eleventh episodes John had been animating.

“When did she even see this?”

“She asked for it. I gave it to her. Notice how every change she wants is ASAP. And the very last one is
very
ASAP.”

“I see she put that one in bold.” I smile at him, but he isn’t having it. I rarely see him get upset, but he certainly is right now.

“Who am I supposed to be listening to? You or her?”

“Well, I’ll talk to her about them and get back to you. ASAP.” At last, he smiles.

I’m beginning to dread this walk down the hall. I knock. “Come in.”

Delores is a flurry of activity. She is giddy (with power?) and speaking in a baby voice. I imagine this is to prove her creativity.

“Hey, I see you made some notes on a couple of the Esme scripts,” I say, trying to sound firm but nonthreatening. I keep thinking of what Kathy said. I don’t want to believe women can really be so threatened by other women.

“Yeah, I had a couple of very significant concerns that you seemed to have overlooked.”

“I haven’t had time to check out those scripts.” Delores takes her glasses off and rises to her full four-foot-ten frame.

“Rebecca, do you know how dangerous it will be if we let this get away from us?”

“We have plenty of time before we have to animate.”

“A week.”

“The way things have been moving that seems like a long time,” I say.

“I realize we’re all very busy. I was here until eleven last night.” God, she’s one of those. We don’t have to punch in a time clock, but every once and a while there’s someone who feels the need to justify their job by announcing how late they worked. I hate those people. “But getting these episodes out is an emergency.”

“John and Janice work really well under pressure,” I say, giving them the props they deserve.

“They need to work better. You need to get them to work better.” I am furious. She doesn’t seem to know anything about timetables. But she is the boss, so I have to accept.

“Okay. I’ll talk to them about it.” I start to leave. I can’t resist. “ASAP.”

“That would be terrific.” She’s back on the giddy baby voice, but then suddenly switches back to condescending. “I haven’t gotten your calendar today.”

“There aren’t any changes from the last one.”

“Send it, anyway. Thanks.”

Never in my life was I so glad it was Friday. I am not usually one of those people who “worked for the weekend.” Even be
fore Esme, I always kind of liked my job, but now I am turning into someone who can’t wait to get home.

Wasn’t I the It Girl? Hadn’t I been the person who got the affiliates so excited? Doesn’t that count for anything anymore?

My phone rings just as I hit Send to e-mail the pixie her unrevised calendar. It is Lauryn, inviting me out for drinks with the girls. It is her attempt at peace between the warring factions of Beth and Kathy.

“Kathy has actually agreed not to go straight home tonight, and Beth can give us some time before some party she was noncommittal about. I’m short on dough so I was thinking maybe Pepe Giallo.”

“Do you think the garden’s open yet?”

“I dunno. It’s warm enough.”

“Okay, I’m in.” Pepe Giallo is cheap and has reliable pasta and cute Italians running around. If the garden is open, it might be just what we all need to relax. I hear Lauryn sigh on the other end. “What?”

“I’ve got some bad news. The lease is up and if you want to keep the place, the rent’s going up.”

“Again? Do they want our blood? How much?”

“Twenty-five.”

“Fuck! $2,500! Do they think we are made of money?”(This is why it is good to have an office door.)

“It’s two bedrooms and a pretty big kitchen. Only two floors to walk up. They know they can get it. The Flatiron-Chelsea neighborhood is hopping these days and we’re right there.”

“Fine.”

“There
is
Tommy’s offer,” she says, mocking.

“I’ll just see you at Pepe’s.”

“Okay, bring your smile. And be there in twenty because I don’t want Kathy to get antsy or Beth to piss me off.”

Thirty-three minutes later, I get to Pepe Giallo. Kathy and Lauryn are there, but Beth is not. They have downed half a carafe of red wine already and who knows how much bread,
but luckily the garden is open. Lauryn is smoking and Kathy is waving it away. Her smile looks forced.

“Hey, guys, sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Kathy says, bumping me with her new pink glasses as we kiss hello.

“I was sure you’d be later than Beth,” Lauryn adds.

“Is she still coming?” I ask. They both nod.