“When she asked me, I reminded her no one is supposed to talk to the media.”
Jo looked up at her. Chantal’s arms were crossed.
“She asked you?”
Chantal gave a nod.
“You could’ve told me then.”
“I thought I had talked her out of it,” she said. “And I’m not trying to be in your business. I only know about the second article because I overheard some PAs talking about it.”
Jo sighed. Emma meant well, organizing the article, but she really should have known better. They didn’t need to give the tabloids any ammunition. Emma couldn’t be talking to reporters about how great Jo was—even if that thought made Jo warm inside.
Chantal was still standing in front of Jo’s desk, arms crossed, scrutinizing her.
“Say what you want to say,” Jo said.
Chantal’s arms dropped to her sides. “When have I not said what I wanted to say to you?”
It was true. On Jo’s first show, Chantal had regularly contradicted Jo’s ideas. Most people thought they hated each other, but Jo cherished having another perspective, someone who wasn’t afraid to tell her when she was wrong. Now, more than a decade later, Innocents was the only program on network TV with two women of color at the helm. Jo and Chantal got to this point by not bullshitting each other.
Still, Jo pressed. “You have thoughts?”
Chantal shrugged one shoulder. “If I believed the shit they’re writing, maybe I’d have thoughts, but I know you better than that.”
Jo let out a relieved breath. At least she still had Chantal on her side.
“Send her in, will you?”
Chantal nodded and left, leaving the door open behind her so Jo could hear her tell Emma that Jo wanted to see her.
Emma hovered at the door like she didn’t want to come in.
“Chantal said you needed something?”
“Come in,” Jo said. “Door open.”
She didn’t need anyone thinking she and Emma were holed up in her office doing who knows what.
Emma stood with her hands twined in front of her, looking at the floor. She already knew what this was about, then.
“What were you thinking?” Jo had expected to be angry, but her voice was filled only with disappointment.
Emma sighed. “I thought—” she started. “They’re not even giving you a chance—just saying you’re not good enough, with nothing to back it up. It seemed so easy to debunk. I knew everyone who ever worked for you or with you or near you would know you could do this. Phil’s—you know Phil in props? His old roommate is a journalist. It seemed like a simple solution.”
“And how exactly did it get out that you organized it?”
“I don’t know!” There was the slightest whine in her voice. Jo tried not to find it endearing. “I was discreet! All I did was kick-start the process by asking some people if they’d be willing to do it. I’m not even one of the ones quoted in the article! I never spoke to the reporter directly. He shouldn’t have known I was the one to organize it.”
That made Jo pause.
If Emma hadn’t talked to the reporter herself, where did the second article come from?
Jo wanted to interrogate her, ask who all knew she was the one who arranged the article, but Emma looked like a dog with its tail between its legs.
“So you not only conspired with other employees behind my back to violate the no-media agreement, you knew your involvement was a bad idea.”
Emma’s head hung. “Chantal said it was a bad idea, too,” she said. “I’m sorry. I should’ve listened.”
This gave the press more to throw at Jo. Not only was she a “midlife crisis of a person in love with her assistant,” she couldn’t even fight her own battles. How was she ever supposed to run an Agent Silver movie if she couldn’t keep her employees from talking to reporters?
“You should’ve,” Jo agreed. “The rumors of our supposed relationship will drag on now. As will the belief that I can’t do my job.”
Emma huffed at that. “You can,” she said. “That was the point!”
“As I told you, the people who matter know I can,” Jo said. “I’ve got a contract already signed with the people who matter. All you’ve done is make them second-guess themselves.”
Emma’s eyebrows knit together, her mouth turning down.
“I’m so sorry, boss,” she said. “I promise nothing like this will happen ever again.”
Jo had already known that from the dejected way Emma had walked into her office. It made her want to comfort her assistant when she was supposed to be dressing her down. Emma’s earnest belief in her meant a lot, actually, even if it didn’t manifest itself well.
She considered telling Emma that her indiscretion wouldn’t have been such a problem if it weren’t for a bigger issue: that second article. If Emma didn’t talk to the reporter herself, there was a leak. A real leak, not just her assistant trying to make her look good. That was something Jo was going to have to deal with at some point.
Emma didn’t need to know that, though. It would only serve to make her feel more guilty, and she obviously felt guilty enough.
“I do appreciate it, you know,” Jo found herself saying. “How you think I’ll do a good job with the movie.”
It felt heavier than she meant it.
“I know you will, boss,” Emma said.
Maybe Jo should’ve had her close the door after all.
* * *
—
As expected, Emma’s misguided attempt to help had hurt instead. The rumors swirled harder, the articles taking on a cruel edge. The network scheduled a phone call with Jo the next week. She knew it wasn’t going to be good news, and indeed, they opened the conversation with “We wanted to touch base regarding these rumors.”
While one of the execs droned on, Jo muted her side of the call.
“Emma!”
Her door was closed, but Emma came right in.
“Yes, boss?”
Jo pointed to the phone, where the guy was doing everything he could to avoid saying the word lesbian. “This concerns you,” Jo said. “If you’re interested in listening in.”
“It all seems a little inappropriate,” said John or Dave or whatever his name was; Jo could not for the life of her remember. “An assistant and a showrunner.”
Emma’s eyes widened. She sat down on the couch.
Jo held her finger to her lips, then unmuted the phone. “I agree it would be inappropriate were there anything between us. But there’s not.”
“Why don’t you just say that?”
“I’ve never commented on my love life,” Jo said for what felt like the fortieth time. “To do so now would be tacky. And offensive, as this is the first time a prolonged rumor has concerned me and a woman.”
Jo considered flat-out calling them homophobic, but the hint should work well enough. Emma pressed her lips together, her palms resting flat on her thighs.
“Is the rumor affecting our ratings?” Jo asked like she didn’t know the answer. It might be affecting her personal reputation, but the show was doing well, averaging two-tenths higher than last year.
“Well, no, but—”
As Josh or Dan continued about the potential issues that could come up, Jo rolled her eyes at Emma, who gave a rueful smile.
“Perhaps you could go out with someone else,” Jake said. “Pick a guy, pick a restaurant, and—”
“I know you did not just tell me I should be seen out with a man in order to quell rumors about a relationship with a woman,” Jo said. “Rumors that are having zero effect on our ratings and advertisers.”
The line was silent for a moment.
Someone else spoke up. “No, Jo, what I think Don meant—”
“Great,” Jo cut him off again. “If you’ll excuse
me, I’ve got a lot to get done here. Do keep in touch if the rumors ever actually cause any issues?”
“Right. Thanks.”
Jo mm-hmmed, and ended the call.
She leaned her elbows against her desk and held her head in her hands.
“I’m going to fucking kill him,” she said.
Emma made a noise that sounded like she was hiding a laugh. “Boss . . .”
“The fucking nerve.”
“You’ve always said the network execs were idiots,” Emma said.
Jo lifted her head to level Emma with a look. “And yet they’ve never been as bad as that was.”
Emma shrugged. “They’re worried about their reputation. It’s not a big deal.”
“Their reputation?” Jo stared at her. “He was being a homophobic asshole. I don’t give a fuck what he was worried about.”
Emma gave a small nod.
“If anyone should be worried about their reputation, it’s you,” Jo said. “You’re the one everyone thinks is sleeping with her boss.”
Emma blushed, but Jo was serious. Emma had said she didn’t know what the next step in her career was, but they’d figure that out, and what then? What would happen when Emma was ready to move on from Innocents? How much stock would other potential employers put in these rumors? How would they affect the importance of Jo’s recommendation letter?
“I suppose I can be seen with someone else,” she said.
“No.”
Jo blinked at Emma, whose cheeks were still flushed pink.
“I just mean—” Emma started. Took a breath. “That network guy was wrong to suggest that. And you definitely don’t have to do it for my benefit.”
“It would be simple,” Jo said. “Go out to dinner with someone once or twice so the paparazzi move on.”
“If you already have dinner plans, of course that’s fine,” Emma said. She rubbed her hands along her thighs. “But my so-called simple solution to people claiming you’d be bad for Agent Silver is what made the network call to begin with. It doesn’t always work out the way you expect.”
Jo conceded the point.
“Regardless, you don’t have to go out of your way on my behalf,” Emma said. “The rumors aren’t that much a of a problem at this point.”
Her smile was stiff. Jo smiled back gently.
“I did have to have a fun phone call with my mom at the beginning,” Emma said. “Typical Jewish mother thrilled at the idea that her kid has a significant other. She completely approved, and was actually a little disappointed when I told her it was just a rumor.”
Jo chuckled, like she knew Emma wanted her to, and tried not to think about how she hadn’t met a girl’s parents since she was in her early twenties. She hadn’t dated enough since then, too famous and just closeted enough to not bother much.
“If you’re sure,” Jo said.
“Certain.”
They looked at each other for a moment. Emma took a breath.
“I want to apologize again, boss,” she said. “I thought I knew what I was doing—with the article. I obviously didn’t. I just—” She broke eye contact. “I hate what they’re saying about you. When everyone who knows you knows you’re going to be great.”
“How can anyone know that? I’ve never done this before. I don’t even know if I can.”
Emma’s eyes snapped back up. “Jo,” she said quietly.
Jo didn’t mean to admit any of that. She hadn’t even told Evelyn about her nerves. She waved her hand dismissively.
“It’s nothing,” she said. “A little self-doubt is all.”
“That’s . . .” Emma trailed off, then geared up again. “That’s understandable—we all doubt ourselves sometimes, especially with something as new as this, and especially when you have the press and the network breathing down your neck. But you’re going to be fine. You’re so goddamn talented—excuse my French—there’s no way you’re not going to be awesome at this, just like everything else you’ve done.”
Jo’s chest fluttered. Emma’s unwavering belief felt strong enough for the both of them. It was so new from what most people were writing about her.
“When I need the reminder . . .” Jo paused, not sure she could actually bring herself to ask for help like this. “You won’t let me forget?” she said eventually.
“Never,” Emma vowed.
Jo believed her.
“Do you have work you can do in here?” Jo asked.
“Sure, boss,” Emma said. “Let me go grab it.”
Emma disappeared, returned with her tablet. She gave Jo a smile and then sat back down on the couch, her focus entirely on her work.
She was used to it by now, Jo supposed. It wasn’t often that Jo asked Emma to work in her office—only when things got incredibly frustrating, when Jo lost the thread of plot or couldn’t get the right tone of dialogue. That was where she was at the moment, brain too busy to figure out the last-minute edits to the finale script. She had thought she was done with it, but there was this one scene that didn’t quite work, and she hadn’t been able to fix it.
Jo wasn’t sure what it was, exactly, about Emma in her office that helped her. She thought perhaps it was Emma’s sturdiness. Emma was steadfast. To have Emma there, silently accomplishing things—it made Jo’s troubles seem irrelevant. There were no excuses. Just do the work.
And Jo did.
* * *
—
The GLAAD Media Awards in early April were Jo’s first public event since the SAGs. She wouldn’t be bringing Emma, obviously. She considered getting Evelyn to fly out from New York, but then Jo would be labeled a lesbian and a slut, probably, so it wouldn’t have been the best choice.
The GLAADs weren’t as bad as other awards shows. They weren’t considered as prestigious, which helped, Jo thought. Made them more bearable. But it was more than that—being in a room with so many young, open, proud people, it made Jo’s heart ache a little, in a good way. She still wasn’t publicly out—no matter what gossip magazines said about Emma and her. She wrote queer people into her shows and she let people speculate, but, as her publicist kept reminding everyone, she had never commented on her love life. She’d considered it once, when she was nineteen. She came out to her parents first.
Her mom told her to think of her career. Her father told her they were never going to speak of it again.
And so she hadn’t, not really. She was, for the most part, okay with that. But then she went to the GLAAD awards and saw young women holding hands, and her heart ached.
Regardless, she’d be going alone.
Except for the rumors, the SAGs were the best awards show Jo had been to in years. Prep went smoothly, they arrived late enough that she skipped interviews, and the food was delicious. Emma hadn’t simply been a buffer—she had been entertaining in and of herself. And Jo hadn’t ended the evening exhausted and longing for sleep; she’d ended it smiling as they dropped Emma off at her apartment building.
Jo wanted the GLAADs to be similar, wanted to enjoy them. But everything reminded her of the SAGs. As Kelli and Mai put her together, as she walked the red carpet, Jo thought of Emma. It didn’t help that both her prep team in the suite and the photographers at the event kept asking after Jo’s “girlfriend.”
She tried to let it roll off her, tried to keep a smile on her face. With no buffer, she had to talk to anyone who came by, but it was fine—it was; she swore the GLAADs were better than other ceremonies. Tonight they simply took more mental energy than she had.
And then, when Jo was almost at her breaking point, when she wanted to go home, Innocents won for Outstanding Drama Series, and she had a speech to give.
The whole cast came onstage with her. Jo accepted the award and stepped up to the microphone, everyone still hugging behind her.
She had a speech planned. They’d w
on this three years running now; she came prepared. She had a list of people to thank.
She didn’t.
“This is my favorite awards show,” she said instead. “This is the award I will always be proudest to win. I write fiction, but these are real stories. These are important stories.”
These are our stories, she thought but did not say as people applauded. This wasn’t about her, not really.
“There are plenty of people who work on our show who I could thank, but I want to thank you,” Jo said. “Thank all of you, for being so strong in the face of a world that sometimes seems like it would rather you not exist. Thank you for being proud in the face of people who think you should be ashamed. Thank you for being here, in this world. For surviving. You are an inspiration.”
Everyone congratulated her again as they left the stage together, hugs and high fives and big grins. Jo wished Emma were there.
5
EMMA
Congratulations on the win,” Emma said as she handed Jo her coffee the Monday following the GLAADs.
“Thanks,” Jo said. “Is everything on track for Friday?”
Emma had never seen Jo do anything with a compliment except brush it off. She followed Jo into her office.
“Everything is set for Friday, yes,” Emma said. “Except for the last-minute RSVPs who I am going to make grovel before telling them they can still come.”
That got Jo to smirk slightly as she sat at her desk and opened her laptop.
“Would you like to see a list of songs for karaoke?” Emma asked. “So you can practice in advance?”
Jo chuckled. “Good try.”
Karaoke was Emma’s favorite part of every wrap party, but Jo never sang.
“I have a new duet partner this year,” Emma said. “You won’t want to miss it.”
“You’re bringing a date?” Jo said, looking up at Emma, her brow furrowed.
“I am!” Emma said. “My sister’s coming early to drop off the desserts from her bakery, and then she’ll change and come back as my date slash singing partner.”
The wrinkles in Jo’s forehead smoothed. Emma wondered if Jo thought she was bringing a date date—not that it would have quelled the rumors: What happened at wrap parties stayed at wrap parties. Part of planning the party was ensuring there would be no paparazzi anywhere near it. That was kind of a necessity when you had an open bar and no call time in the morning.
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