by Ariella Papa
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 someone 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 before 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.”
&nbs
p; 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.
“Are you ready to order?” the waiter asks. I am starving, but it’s only fair to wait for Beth.
“Just more bread, please, and a glass,” I ask the waiter, almost pleadingly.
“It feels like summer,” Kathy said. She’s right. It isn’t even really dark yet, and you can feel the warmth in the air.
Beth finally arrives. She kisses us all hello and doesn’t apologize for being late.
“I’m starving,” Kathy says, and I’m not sure if it’s a dig for Beth.
“Have some more bread,” Lauryn says. It’s pretty strange that she organized this. We used to have to drag her out of the apartment. The waiter brings Beth and me glasses.
“Were you late, too, Rebecca?” Beth asks me.
“A little,” Kathy says before I can answer. Is she still bitter about the bridesmaid thing? We pick up our menus. In days gone by we never usually got around to looking at the menus (I, of course, was the exception); we gossiped for a while until the waiter would come over and ask us for the second time if we were ready to order. Now we are thankful to have a prop to cover our faces.
“Well, I know what I want,” Kathy says.
“Of course you know,” Beth said. “We’ve been here a zillion times.”
“I want to hear the specials,” I say. Beth turns to me.
“Honestly, Rebecca, you always get the pappardelle.”
“I know, I just want to hear the specials. Is that okay?”
“Of course it is,” Kathy says. She is taking my side by default.
“Remember that time we came here before your work party, Beth?” Lauryn asks.
“I do,” I say. “I remember Kathy was so shitfaced, she spilled pesto all over her white shirt.”
“And she was too shitfaced to care,” Beth adds.
“You lent me that cardigan you had in your desk,” Kathy says to Beth.
“And afterward you met Ron,” Lauryn reminds her. I wink at Lauryn. She is acting like some sort of negotiator. I’m not sure why it’s so important to her to make sure Beth and Kathy are getting along. Maybe it’s her therapist’s idea. The waiter came over.
“’Ave you decided?”
“She would like to hear the specials,” Beth said, then stuck out her tongue at me in a playful way. The spinach-and-ricotta ravioli special sounded good, but I decide to stick with what I know.
“I think I’ll have the pappardelle with spicy ragu.” The rest of the girls laugh at me and I mock bow.
“You are de star,” the waiter says in his hot little Italian way. Kathy got gnocchi with pesto. Beth got the spaghetti with peas and potatoes and Lauryn got penne a la vodka with chicken. And we agreed to split a baby-greens-and-goat-cheese salad and buffalo mozzarella tomato appetizer. The order is the same as always.
When the starters came, we fell right into a normal routine. Kathy started telling us about Ron’s mother’s annoying dietary demands for the wedding. Beth complained that her mother, who had been opposed to her dating all along, was now asking her if she wanted to be an old maid. I did an impressive impression of Delores Wagner and Lauryn ordered another bottle of wine.
It was perfect and comfortable. When our pasta arrived, we all took bites of one another’s dishes and moaned with savory delights. It could have been any other night.
Then Beth’s cell phone rang.
Then she answered the call.
Then Kathy excused herself to go to the bathroom.
Then she came back with red eyes.
Then Beth got off the phone and muttered an insincere apology.
Then we ate for a little while in silence.
Then Beth’s phone rang again and Kathy slapped her hand on the table.
Then Beth looked at the number, looked at Lauryn and left the table.
Then I ordered another bottle of wine.
Then Kathy said, “Don’t even bother. I’m going to go home soon, anyway.”
Then Lauryn said, “No, let’s have more.”
When Beth returned to the table, she didn’t say anything for a while. She pushed her food around her plate and ate another potato.
“You know, I’m full, and I told some people I would meet up with them,” she finally says.
“Well, have fun with your people,” Kathy says.
“Do you want to wrap up the rest of it?” I ask.
“No, that’s okay. I won’t eat it.” She already has her bag on her shoulder. “How much do I owe?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Lauryn says. “It’s on me. My last big night out.”
I knew then why she planned this, what she wanted—a normal night out.
“What about next weekend?” Beth asks.
“I’ll be busy packing. I’m going to take the ferry up next Monday.”
“Oh, okay. Well, I’ll call you before you go,” Beth says. “See you guys.”
“Bye,” I say.
“I need your measurements to give to the dress shop,” Kathy says without really looking up.
“I’ll e-mail you,” Beth shouts as she was already almost out of the garden.
The waiter comes over to clear her plate. I rescue one of the potatoes in her pasta before he gets it.
“You can take mine, too,” Kathy says. “I should get the train before it becomes too sporadic. I didn’t realize this was your last night out, Lauryn. Maybe I’ll stop over to help you pack this week.”
“Thanks, Kathy.” While they hugged goodbye, I stole one of Kathy’s gnocchi before the waiter could grab it away. Then I hugged Kathy and told her I hoped to see her this week.
When she’s gone, we pick at our food a little more. Lauryn holds her plate out to me and I take a piece of chicken and mop it in more sauce.
“I wish I had known tonight was supposed to be special,” I said. “I should have planned it myself.”
“It’s okay. So, I guess you’re going to move in with Tommy?”
“It doesn’t seem like I have much of a choice.”
“I’m sorry.”
“And I’m sorry I was late.”
“That was the least of the problems.” She looks down at her plate and squeezes a piece of penne between her fingers. “Rebecca…”
“Yeah?”
“Who do you think called Beth? That last time?”
“I dunno,” I say. “One of her cooler friends, I guess. Why?”
“I don’t know.” She squints at me, sizing me up for something. She squinted at me like this many times when she was sleuthing Jordan. I made Esme squint in a similar way when she is questioning school bullies. I hadn’t realized that I got the look from Lauryn until right now. “You don’t think there’s something…funny going on.”
“Funny? I don’t know.” But there is something in my head that I can’t quite pinpoint. It was just out of my reach and for some reason, I didn’t want to know.
Lauryn stares at me for another few seconds, like she wants to ask me something. Then she says, “I guess you’re right. Let’s finish the wine.”
“Good idea. I know one thing that could turn this night out.” She raises her eyebrows.
“Tiramisu?”
“Thatta girl.”
8
Wiser Time
My phone is ringing. Does anyone respect Saturdays anymore? Every Saturday, it’s like Déjà Vu. No, more like Ground-hog Day. I squint at the clock. It’s ten-thirty. It stops ringing. Bless Lauryn, I think, and fall back to sleep.
When I get up an hour l
ater, I smell cleaning products. Lauryn is on one of her crazy housekeeping sprees. I really need to pee, but she is scrubbing the toilet bowl.
“Can’t you just wait?”
“It’s going to get dirty eventually.” She sighs and pulls off her rubber glove. She has her bandanna on, which means she’s going to attack the kitchen next.
“Who called?” I yell from the toilet.
“Tommy with questions. You should just move in with him.”
“What about Seamus?”
“What about him?”
“I don’t know. What if he finds out I’m living with Tommy?” I come out of the bathroom and go into the kitchen. She is pulling cans of soup out of the cabinets.
“Well, he won’t know who Tommy is.” She turns to me. “Rebecca, you didn’t tell him about Tommy, did you?”
“I did a little. I didn’t tell about the offer.”
“Well, don’t. Just have him keep calling you on your cell and never let him come to your place.” She learned a few things from Jordan’s lies.
“So I should move in with Tommy?”
“Well, it doesn’t seem like Beth is going to ask you. Unfortunately, everyone else is pretty much paired off. Unless you want someone’s couch. I think it should be a very transitional thing with Tommy. You can’t stay there for more than a few months. It just won’t be good.” It’s nice to have a person who has no trouble making your big decisions for you. She’s right. I can’t afford this rent, not with my credit card debt.
“I don’t know why you’re cleaning, we’re moving out, anyway.”
“It puts my mind at ease.” She pauses. “So I can tell the landlord we won’t need to resign.”
“Yes, and while you’re at it tell him to fuck himself for rent like this.”
“Okay.” She pulls out some pasta boxes and smiles. Cleaning makes her strangely giddy; I will never understand it. “What are you up to today?”
“Well, I think I’ll go to Madison Square Park and work on the final scripts and some notes for the animators. Then I told Seamus I would take him out for dinner since he’s treated me the past couple of times.”
“Nice. I’m going to clean out my closets and take stuff to Goodwill.”