Up & Out Read online

  “Oh, yeah. I’ll be there. Just finishing up a script. Popcorn?” I hold the bag out to her and shake it.

  “No, thanks. You’re sweet. Okay. I’ll see you in the meeting.”

  “Okay, see you. Bye-bye.” Bye fucking bye? I’m even talking like her. Who am I turning into? The day is mostly over and I haven’t done anything but go to meetings and comment on other people’s work. I’ve created nothing. I’ve done nothing.

  Jen pokes her head in. “Mmm, that smells good.” She grabs a handful of popcorn. “Oh, you’re reading my script. How is it?”

  “Really good. You did a terrific job. I only have a few more notes to make.” She grimaces. “Not big things, just continuity. We got to get to the meeting.”

  After two more unproductive meetings I leave work to get something to wear. The crowd at H&M is horrendous, as usual. I weave through the tourists and club kids and find a seethrough shirt with flower designs. I grab a tank and black pants. It’s a good thing I wore black shoes today.

  The pants are too tight, even though they should be my size. I have to go back to the floor where hip-hop is blasting. It’s getting more and more crowded as people get out of work. Of course, the only other sizes of the pants I want are four and six. A preteen grabs a pair of the fours. Another reason teen girls rule the world—slim hips.

  I bypass the skirts. I can’t deal with tights and my legs are stubbly (hey, I’m not dating anyone). I find more pants. These look like they would be even tighter. They don’t have any pockets in back, my butt is going to be huge. I take my size and the sizes one and two up from mine. I don’t want to think about how high into the double digits I am getting. I have no time to go to the gym, and besides, I hate going to the gym.

  Now there is a line for the dressing room. I look at my watch. I’m never going to make it. I split the difference and grab the pants that were a size above mine. If they don’t fit I might as well just call it quits, anyway. I also grab a sweater, just because it’s cheap and I continuously laugh in the face of my increasing debt. The more I make, the more I spend. I still have college loans.

  I take a cab down to the Seaport to save time. With traffic, it costs me an outrageous sixteen bucks—one whole plate of tempura. I’ll expense it. There is a pizza shop nearby. I smile at the guy behind the counter and ask if I can use the bathroom.

  “It’s supposed to be for customers only.” I can tell he is going to let me, anyway, but I am quite hungry and it smells good in here. I haven’t eaten all day except for a couple of handfuls of popcorn.

  “Okay, maybe I’ll grab a couple of garlic knots.”

  I go to the bathroom while he heats them up. It’s not the best place to change, but I have no choice. The mirror is tiny, so I don’t get the full impact of my butt.

  The guy behind the counter whistles when I come out of the bathroom. I smile, because he doesn’t seem too lecherous. I pay for the knots and eat them quickly at the counter.

  “Well?” pizza man says.

  “Delicious,” I say, licking my fingers. I notice the way he is watching me and I grab a napkin.

  “You like that, you should try our pizza.” It smells good, but hors d’oeuvres will be passed at the party. Nobody skimps on the affiliates.

  “Some other time,” I say.

  “Have fun,” he calls after me. “Don’t party too hard.”

  When I get to the Seaport space, I check my bag of clothes immediately. The room is big and swanky. Someone has gone a bit crazy draping white fabric and rose petals over every solid surface. There are waiters with tall flutes of champagne on trays. I grab one and take a quick peek at my watch. Only twenty-two minutes late. Not too bad. I spot Hackett across the room. He waves me over. I down the champagne and get a vodka gimlet from the bar before making my way through the crowd. I need to take the edge off. On the way I eat two small potatoes with cream cheese and caviar and baby beef Wellington. God, I love food.

  “There she is. Here’s Becky,” Hackett says. He puts his arm around me. (Did I mention I hate to be called Becky? Hackett’s the only one who does it.) “She’s the girl behind Esme.”

  I wish he’d said “woman,” but who am I to split hairs? I stand in the same place for the rest of the night and meet people and eat whatever appetizer comes my way. There is great food, but I can’t even enjoy it because I’m too busy being nice to everyone. Every time I’m introduced to someone new, I only really hear the wait staff introduce the appetizers.

  “Rebecca, this is Mike Jasse from Boston.”

  “Salmon and cream cheese on black bread.”

  “Let me introduce you to Louisa Siciliano from Baltimore.”

  “Olive tapenade on toast.”

  “You have to meet Cindy Betti from the Des Moines office.”

  “Some coconut shrimp.”

  I have the same conversation with everyone and because I am standing with Hackett, people come and bring us drinks. I want to go over and talk to Janice, John or Jen, but every time I finish talking to one person there is someone else to meet. Everyone says complimentary things to me about Esme. I smile and blush a lot.

  Do you ever have the feeling like you don’t belong somewhere? Like no matter how nice people are being, they’re eventually going to find out that you are in way over your head? That’s what I kept feeling when people said how much they liked Esme and how happy I must be. The more I drank and ate the more I felt like a big faker. What the hell was I doing? Was Esme or I worth all this praise? I couldn’t help feeling that any minute it was all going to end.

  I keep looking over my shoulder. I keep waiting for that person to come over and escort me out and say, “Rebecca Cole, you big faker, you don’t really think you’re the star of the show, do you?”

  “Who are you looking for, Becky?” Hackett asks. “Why, here’s Ellie Egher all the way from Denver….”

  By the end of the night, I think I have met and attempted to charm every affiliate in the entire country. Hackett finally ran off for a moment and I look around for my team but can’t find anyone. Then, I feel a hand on my shoulder. The “they” I’d been dreading has finally caught up with me. This is it. I am out.

  I take a deep breath and turn around. I knew it all had to end eventually. What I see is the biggest, most beautiful woman I have ever seen.

  “Hi. I’m Tabitha Milton,” she says. “I heard you were the girl to meet.”

  2

  Raspberry Swirl

  “Hi,” I say, shaking her extended hand. She is balancing a plateful of cheese and bread in her other hand. She has a firm grip and that intimidates me. “Your name sounds familiar.”

  “Yeah, I founded On the Verge magazine.”

  “Oh, my goodness, hey. Thanks for the great article on Esme.”

  “Congrats on the series.”

  “Thanks. It’s a little overwhelming.”

  “Oh, you should never admit to being overwhelmed. That’s how they get you. You should always be closing.”

  “Isn’t that a sales term?”

  “Yeah, but we’re all in sales one way or another.” A waiter comes over with another tray of champagne. Tabitha takes a glass, so I do, too.

  “I guess you’re right.”

  “Believe me, I am.”

  “So what are you selling?”

  “Well, I’m not actually here to sell. I came with a date. He’s the affiliate from L.A.” She gestures over to a big muscular guy standing in a crowd.

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah,” she says. “He’s Samoan. We met on the Internet. It’s just a fling.”

  I’m not sure why she is telling me this, but I’m thinking that maybe I should look into one of those Internet dating services. It was getting harder to find decent single (straight) men in the city.

  “I have a new venture in addition to the magazine. Underwear.”

  “Underwear? Like skivvies?”

  “Yeah. Would you wear my underwear?”

  “Um.” She doesn�
��t wait for me to answer. She hands me her plate, sets her empty glass down on a passing tray and fishes a pair of lace panties out of her bag. They are packaged quite nicely.

  “Tabitha’s Taboos,” I say, reading the ribbon.

  “That’s right. I find it makes a great gift for your man, too. I encourage you to regift them. Thank you.” She grabs another glass of champagne off another tray. She moves fast, but gracefully.

  “Well, thanks.”

  “No problem.” She takes a big bite of bread and cheese. “Ugh. Fats and carbos. Nothing makes me feel more alive, except of course…”

  I know what she means. I have to laugh. I am beginning to feel drunk and I’m not sure if it is all the champagne or her.

  “It’s almost time for me to go.” She is still eyeing her man and it looks like he is looking at her, too. “It’s been very nice meeting you. Good luck with everything.”

  “Thanks—and thanks for the underwear. Good luck with all your stuff, too.”

  I say my goodbyes to Hackett and Jen. Janice and John have already left. I get a cab right away. It’s twelve-thirty. I keep thinking of Tabitha. She didn’t seem like many other women I meet. I envy her confidence. She is one of those people who just believes what they say and doesn’t care whether or not you do. I have to start being more confident. Maybe I will give Esme a friend named Tabitha.

  I creep into my apartment quietly. There is a note on my bedroom door saying that Tommy has called. Lauryn made one of those winking happy faces that people do over e-mail. Fuck Tommy. He’ll be sorry when I meet my Samoan over the Net. Then he can have his Grand Theft Auto III all to himself.

  In the morning I got to the office early. Not even Jen was there yet. The phone rang before I had a chance to hang up my jacket.

  “Rebecca Cole.”

  “Rebecca, hi. It’s Paul Perry. How are you?” Paul was one of the freelance designers who used to work for the kids’ block on ARCADE when I was the production assistant there. There could be only one reason he is calling: he wants work.

  “Hi, Paul. How are things?” I wonder how long he will make small talk before getting to the point. He isn’t a bad guy, but we aren’t friends and I know he just wants a connection at Explore!

  “Oh, terrific. Things are wonderful.” He begins to list a bunch of projects he’s been working on. I think about interrupting him and just asking him to send me his résumé reel instead of giving me this laundry list. He compliments me on Esme and drops some trade rag references.

  “Is it absolutely insane over there?” This is a trick question. I have to answer carefully.

  “Sometimes.” Does he think I don’t know where he is going with this?

  “Well, I was thinking maybe I could help alleviate some of that stress. You know I’m freelance now? Cranium TV had all those layoffs. Par for the course in this business.” He does a little fake chuckle. It seems odd to me that he is acting like we were equals when I used to be so junior compared to him.

  “I guess so.”

  “So is there any work over at Explore!?” Finally.

  “Well, Paul. Why don’t you send me your reel?” It is kind of a brush-off, but, as he must have expected, “par for the course in this business.” He could send me his video résumé and feel like something was happening. “We’re not really hiring right now.”

  He is disappointed, but I take all his information. He makes me promise to call him if anything comes up. Kids’ TV is cutthroat, he explains, and we have to look out for each other. Then he says something really strange.

  “Any truth to the rumor Explore! is for sale?”

  “Um,” I am caught completely off guard. I should read the trades more, but I am in my own little Esme world. “I don’t know anything about that.”

  “Well, be careful, Rebecca, ride the wave.”

  “Thanks, Paul. Good luck.” People are so melodramatic about things in business. It’s obnoxious, but you have to placate them.

  I began work trying to plot out a segment with Esme’s new chubby friend, Tabitha. Janice stops in my office when she gets in, the aroma of her coffee filling my office.

  “Who’s that?” she asks.

  “I thought it was time we gave Esme a little friend. You ducked out of the party early last night.” I can tell by the way she looks at me she thinks I’m playing boss. I’m not, so I try to joke. “You’re lucky. It was really stuffy and Hackett made me talk to all these suits.”

  “You are the It Girl of Explore! Network.” We laugh.

  “So did John leave early, too?” I raise my eyebrows. I wish she would just come clean about the two of them, but I guess she’s trying to be professional.

  “Um, I guess so. Do we have anything big happening today?”

  “As opposed to the usual grind? I just have the music people calling with the score for ep eight.”

  “Cool. I’ll stop in later to see how it went.” She leaves, still revealing nothing. The phone rings again. It’s Lauryn. She sounds pissed.

  “Rebecca, are you hiring Jordan for something?”

  “What? No.”

  “He called me to tell me that he was making big changes and that he was going to be on your channel. He always has to one-up me. What’s this about?”

  “Well, as you know, he’s full of shit. I have no idea what he’s talking about.”

  “You sure he’s not one of your voices or something?” Jordan, her ex, is a waiter who wants to be an actor and who’s constantly bugging me for an in. Unfortunately, I don’t work with live action.

  “No, Lauryn, relax. I thought you were cool about all of this.”

  “I was, but I don’t need Jordan rubbing shit in my face. And by the way, Beth called and I don’t appreciate you guys discussing my life.”

  “Lauryn, calm down. How many times have you discussed my life or Beth’s or anyone’s?”

  “Whatever.” I look up to see Don Beckford standing in my doorway.

  “Listen,” I change my voice to make it seem as though I’m a nice person and not an exasperated friend. “I’ll call you back.”

  “Whatever.” She hangs up. (If she were on antidepressants, like Beth is convinced, you’d think she’d be a lot nicer.)

  “Okay, bye. Thanks.” I say to the dial tone. I don’t want Don Beckford to think people hang up on me. “Hello, Don.”

  “Hey, Rebecca.” Don was so damn jolly all the time. “Is this a bad time? I can come back.”

  “No, what’s up?”

  “I wanted to get your feedback on something.” Really? Don wants my feedback on something, one seasoned producer to another? Nice.

  “Sure.”

  “Jordan Barsotti.” I open my mouth and shut it.

  “What about him?”

  “Of course you know he’s one of our finals for the live actor who will interact with Gus.” So that’s what Lauryn meant, “Gus the Gopher.”

  “Of course.” Shit! What? Does he want my feedback on him? Does he want to hear what a dick he is? How he has a gambling problem, uses drugs more than recreationally and treated his wife like shit? Maybe I should tell Don that one time Jordan grabbed my ass at a party (I never told Lauryn or Tommy) and how it still makes me sick whenever I think about him.

  “I figured you’d be happy to hear about it. He said you guys were good friends.”

  “Well, the thing is, I feel like I never get to see my friends anymore with this show.” Not a lie exactly. What a position to be in.

  “Tell me about it. What friends?” He laughs like Paul Perry had earlier. “But, can you see him as Gus?”

  Before the divorce I had seen Jordan play everything from Hamlet to Stanley Kowalski to the guy inside a sandwich board. Now he would be acting with a blue screen that would later be a gopher.

  “Absolutely,” I say. Playing second fiddle to an imaginary gopher might be enough revenge for Lauryn. “He is Gus.”

  “Terrific. See you later, Becky.” Now that I’ve helped him he thinks it�
�s okay to call me Becky. I hate that. “Hey, great coverage on the premiere episodes.”

  “Thanks.” He probably knows all about the fact that we are up for sale. I need another coffee.

  At four o’clock Tommy calls me with “great” news. Jordan is Gus. He acts like I hadn’t hung up on him yesterday or like Jordan isn’t an asshole as far as I am concerned. I hear Tommy talking to a woman in the background. He comes back on the phone.

  “Who was that?” I ask, trying not to sound as interested as I am.

  “I’m at the store.”

  “What store?”

  “Didn’t I tell you? I got a job.”

  “A job. You already have a job.” When Tommy was laid off from his dot.com gig, it was still early enough for him to get a sweet severance deal. He used his money to start a Web site that appeals to guys like him who buy and sell comic books, video games and the paraphernalia that went with it. It is small and independent, but has a cult following.

  “That’s not really bringing the money in. I’m almost through my savings. Rent’s a little more expensive these days.” I’m not sure if I should be pissed about the dig or feel sorry for him that his dream isn’t exactly going as planned.

  “So where are you working?”

  “The video store on Ninth, you know, where we used to go.” Oh, that one. “It’s not bad at all. I get to watch movies all day. I get a deal on game rentals and when it’s slow I do a little writing.”

  “I see.”

  “Anyway, I should go. So you okay about Lauryn going to the Vineyard?” Finally some concern.

  “What can I do? If she’s happy, I’m happy.”

  “Right, well if you—” He stopped. I waited. “Tell her I said…congrats. Maybe she and Jordan can finally move on with things now.”

  “Maybe,” I say, and wait again. I’m not giving in to this today. If he has something to say, I’m not going to extract it. “Okay, well I’ll talk to you.”