by Claire Adams
“It’s not just that. You’ve got a history of being with women who treat you like crap, who try to take over your whole life and make you utterly miserable.”
“And what business is that of yours?”
“It’s my business,” she says. “You’re my boss and you’re my friend and…well, I don’t want to see you be miserable for the rest of your life just because some tumor chick batted her eyes at you.”
“Why would you do this? You say that we’re friends and you say that you’re trying to protect my career and that you’re trying to protect me on a personal level, but the only thing you’ve accomplished by going to Dr. Preston is cause the very things you say you’re trying to prevent.”
“I know,” she says. “I just got sick of seeing what was happening to you.”
“What are you talking about?”
The door to Grace’s apartment opens a few inches, and I cover the phone.
“Could you keep it down?” Grace asks quietly. “I do have neighbors, you know.”
“Yuri, hold on,” I speak into the phone. “Grace, would you let me in so we can talk?”
“It sounds like you’re pretty busy right now,” she says. “By the way, you’re in a fucking mess.”
“I know I’m in a fucking mess,” I tell her. “Can we talk?”
“Whatever,” she says, but at least she doesn’t close the door.
“Yuri,” I say into the phone, still standing just outside Grace’s apartment, “I’m going to have to call you back.”
“This is what always fucking happens,” Yuri says. “You think you like someone, but then they just ignore you so they can go after the last person on the goddamned planet they should be going after.”
“What?”
“Do you really think that I’m just going to stand by and watch you continue to do what you’re doing? I don’t care if you’ve already been suspended,” she says. “You’re just doing the same shit that made you miserable before and it’s just going to keep making you miserable because you go for the wrong kinds of women.”
“The kind of women I ‘go after,’” I tell her, “is not in any way your concern.”
“Do you have any idea how long I waited for you and that stupid fucking bitch you were dating to break up? I thought this was supposed to be my big chance, but you never even looked at me that way, did you?”
“You’re my assistant, Yuri,” I tell her. “It wouldn’t be appropriate-”
“Oh, you can’t seriously be using that fucking line,” she says. “You’re the one who’s sleeping with a patient. You’re the one who broke who knows how many ethical guidelines so you could keep sticking it in your chemo bimbo.”
That may very easily be the most insensitive term for anyone I’ve ever heard.
“You’re really going to tell me that you and me being together would be inappropriate? You really need to check your fucking life, boss.”
“Yuri,” I tell her, “I’m going to have to let you go.”
“Fine,” she says. “But call me when you’re done; we’re talking about this later.”
“No, I mean I’m going to have to let you go. You’re fired,” I tell her.
“You know, I’m pretty sure it’s illegal to fire someone for disclosing your unethical behavior.”
“Well, the way it’s looking, it’s not going to matter too much whether you lay another charge on me,” I tell her. “You’ve done plenty.”
I hang up the phone.
After putting the phone in my pocket, I reach out to open Grace’s door further and go inside, but the door creaks open before I can lay my hand on the knob.
Grace is standing behind the door, saying, “That was bullshit.”
“I know,” I tell her. “I had no idea Yuri was going to-”
“Very much not what I was talking about,” Grace says, and slams the door in my face.
It’s been that kind of day.
Chapter Seventeen
Rebooting
Grace
The downside of cutting off all contact with Jace is that I couldn’t get a referral from him. Of course, with all the shit he’s in right now, I’m not sure if that many doctors would really be interested in taking his referrals anyway.
Right now, I’m sitting in the chemo suite of Parkside Hospital. My new doctor, Dr. Quintana, tends to favor an intravenous approach when it comes to a chemo delivery system.
I’m not a fan.
The oral crap was bad enough, but with this stuff, my vein feels like it’s eroding at an incredible rate, and I’m getting hit with all the hell of chemo that I had just started to get used to before I went in for that stupid trial, only the symptoms are worse and they’re hitting me a lot quicker.
“How are you feeling?” Dr. Quintana asks me after my next round of vomiting.
“I’ve never felt better,” I tell him. “I hope there’s a marathon today because I feel like going for a nice 26-mile run right about now.”
“I wouldn’t suggest that you go running in your current condition, especially for such a distance,” he says.
Dr. Quintana doesn’t seem to understand or appreciate sarcasm.
This is the kind of thing that makes me miss Jace. I’m not mad at him for me getting kicked out of the trial. I mean, I was at first, but I’m not anymore.
Even when I was upset at him over the trial, I knew it wasn’t his fault, that I wouldn’t have been in the trial in the first place if he hadn’t put himself in such a precarious position.
My phone rings, and it’s with a great deal of annoyance that I reach into my purse to answer it.
“Hello?”
“Grace, it’s me, Margaret. You really need to come in,” my intrepid little secretary says.
“I’m having toxic sludge pumped into my veins at the moment,” I tell her. “Can it wait?”
“Shoot,” she says. “I forgot you were back on chemo.”
“What’s going on?”
“John just got fired,” she says. “I guess he was badmouthing this idea you shared with one of the members of the board and it got kind of heated. He said that it was either him or you and they chose to keep you.”
“Why would they fire him just for badmouthing me?” I ask. “He’s been doing that for years.”
“Well, he may have told Mrs. Sutton that she was an idiot for wanting to go with your idea to work Memento into more markets,” she says.
“Yeah, calling a board member an idiot will usually — they’re going to do it?”
“Yeah,” Mags says. “They wanted me to give you a call and get you in here so they could tell you themselves.”
“I’m stuck here,” I tell her. “Is there any way you could schedule a meeting with them for me tomorrow?”
“Grace?” It’s Mrs. Sutton, the board member who I apparently should have talked to years ago.
“Yes, Mrs. Sutton,” I respond.
“You assistant said something about chemo, are you all right?”
Okay, John may have had a point when he called her an idiot. I didn’t expect the board would know or care that I’ve got this thing in my head, but it’s pretty safe to assume that a person on chemo isn’t all right.
“I’m just in the middle of a-”
“Grace, I’ve talked to the rest of the board, and we’re all in agreement,” she interrupts. “We’d like you to spearhead our expansion in the Midwest. I know you’ve been softening the ground for a while now, and there’s no one else more prepared to move on this than you.”
“I’m sorry, what?” I ask.
It almost sounded like she’s offering me a promotion.
“We’d like for you to fly out to Cleveland. I understand you’ve been working with someone out there at KJBP, and I’d like you to extend a formal offer on behalf of Memento,” she says.
“Tonight?” I ask. “I really don’t think — Mrs. Sutton, even if they were to take the needle out of me now, I don’t think I’d-”
“Well, we don’
t want to wait very long on this,” she interrupts. “Just do me a favor and tell me that you’ll get in touch as soon as you’re feeling up to it. I’d hate to have to send someone in your place after all the work you’ve put into this.”
I’d approached her and told her I thought we should be expanding into other markets, but I didn’t give her any specifics, and I certainly didn’t mention Andrew, the man from KJBP I’ve been working with.
It must have been Mags. There’s no doubt in my mind that she’s the one who decided to fill Mrs. Sutton in on the details.
“I’m not sure when I’ll-” I start.
“Make it soon,” Mrs. Sutton interrupts again. “We’re planning on moving you out to Cleveland if this thing sticks, so I’d be prepared to make the pitch of my life if I were you.”
There’s some interesting phrasing.
“How long can this wait?” I ask, not about to fly out to Cleveland while having to deal with the effects of chemo.
“The best I can give you is until the end of the week,” she says. “When’s your next round of chemo finished?”
“End of the week,” I tell her.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I really can’t give you any longer.”
Isn’t it strange how they were apparently waiting for most of the term of the company’s existence, but now that they’ve apparently started listening to me, it can’t wait another week?
“That seems unfair,” I tell her. “I put this together. What’s with the timetable?”
“We need to get going on this. KJBP’s already starting to get other offers.”
Someone leaked it. This is the problem with telling anyone anything.
“It’s strange that they would receive another offer,” I tell her. “I’ve kept this move under wraps for quite some time and they’ve never had another offer before.”
“I may have threatened them by saying that if they didn’t sell to us, they’d end up as just another Disney channel or CNN,” she says reluctantly.
“And let me guess…”
“Yeah, they called both companies to find out what kind of offer they were going to make.”
That was pretty stupid. Not of KJBP, but of Mrs. Sutton.
Yeah, a lot of smaller stations are scared of getting eaten up by the bigger guys, but every station is looking to turn a profit. If it comes down to a choice between the pride of remaining a small station that can do something relatively close to what they want and the station owner making a shitload of money…you can guess which way they’re going to go.
The one way to get a bigger fish to eat your meal is to let them know, directly or indirectly, that you’re making a move to expand. Aspiring monopolies hate competitors, but they’re usually willing to let a few weaklings like Memento Entertainment exist, so long as we crowd out anyone who might be a serious threat.
By moving to expand in another market and being stupid enough not to keep things properly quiet, we’ve become what they’d consider a serious threat. It really doesn’t take much; those with the most power are often the most insecure.
“Why even bother sending me out there?” I ask. “We don’t have the war chest to win.”
“They like you,” she says. “They want to give you the first crack at it, but you’re going to have to make it one hell of a proposal.”
“What do I have to bargain with?”
“We’re willing to go as high as 10 million,” she says.
Well, they’re not hamstringing me entirely, but in the world of television, 10 million isn’t that much money. Actually, yeah, they’re hamstringing me entirely. KJBP never going to go for 10 million now.
“I don’t know if I’ll be able to fly by then,” I tell her, “but let me call my contact. I might be able to get him out here.”
I’ve got an idea that has a slight chance of turning the tide, but it’s still a long shot.
“Do whatever you have to do,” Mrs. Sutton says.
Somehow, I get the feeling that she isn’t going to come clean if KJBP ends up going the other direction. I’m pretty sure she’s telling me that my job is hanging in the balance here.
“I’ll see what I can do,” I tell her. “Just do me a favor and let me deal with this from here. The last thing I need is for someone telling them that CBS is looking for another affiliate.”
“Yeah, about that…” she says, and how this woman got to be on the board of anything, I have no idea.
“I’ll call when I know something,” I tell her, and hang up the phone.
This is some bullshit, but it’s the closest thing to movement I’m likely to see for the rest of my career with M.E. I’d love to say that I’m confident in my ability to snatch this deal out from under the big guys, but all I have to work with is 10 million?
I swear, if this ends up falling through and I end up losing my job, I’m taking Mrs. Sutton down with me, no matter how entrenched she may be with the board.
Now Jace is walking into the room, though, and I’m feeling all of the annoyance, anger, frustration, sickness, and pain I feel physically turning toward him. Like the woman from the board I just finished talking to, he could have made things a lot easier if only he’d kept his fucking mouth shut.
He’s going to let his career burn because the two of us have some kind of relationship, but what he doesn’t seem to get is that it wouldn’t have mattered if I made some improvements on that drug. The reality is that I don’t have a long life ahead of me no matter what happens.
I can’t just sit back while he buries himself, but I don’t think he’s going to make the right choice on his own. He already fired Yuri for doing what she was actually supposed to do. If he’s going to save himself, he and I need to not be together, but the only way I think that’s going to happen is if I go nuclear.
Let’s just say that after that phone call, I’m already getting tired of having to clean up other people’s mistakes.
“What do you want?” I ask.
“I wanted to come and check on you,” he says. “I just wanted to see how you’re doing.”
“I’ve been better,” I tell him, “but that couldn’t possibly matter right now.”
“Why not?”
“Why are you here?”
“I told you, I wanted to come and check on you,” he repeats.
“It doesn’t feel like it,” I tell him.
“How is that supposed to feel? What does it feel like?”
“I don’t know,” I tell him. “It doesn’t feel good.”
“My hearing’s coming up,” he says. “I’m a bit nervous about which direction it’s going to go. This kind of thing isn’t really looked on that kindly in my profession.”
“Why didn’t you tell them about Dr. Marcum? If you weren’t going to use the backstory you concocted, then why did you set it up in the first place?”
“When I was in that moment,” he says, “I realized that I couldn’t jeopardize another doctor’s reputation or security just to cover for myself.”
“How noble.”
“I get that you’re not feeling well,” he says, “but we knew this could happen.”
“I guess I just thought that we might try going for a different result,” I tell him.
“They had me,” he says. “Yuri sold me out.”
“Yeah, your groupie,” I tell him. “You probably should have done something about that a while ago.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Do you know how I knew your ex was cheating on you?” I ask.
“You said it was because being an…” he finally notices I’m not the only one with a chair in the chemo suite. He leans close and lowers his voice. “You said it was because of my second job and that she’s the one that convinced me to get it.”
“No, you moron,” I tell him. “I swear, men will not make it another step forward in this world until they learn to understand women.”
“What was it then?”
“It was the way she acted
,” I tell him. “It was the way she looked at you and talked to you in front of other people.”
“What do you mean?”
I sigh. “We’re really not that difficult to understand,” I tell him. “Most of us have developed a pretty good poker face out of sheer necessity, but you can always tell when a woman is asking for something she doesn’t really want. Do you really think that filming the two of you together was what she wanted to do? It was a fucking power trip for the other guy.”
“How does that even matter?” he asks. “Whatever the reason, the relationship is over, done.”
“Yeah, I get that, but what I’m really getting at is that you don’t pick up the signs that women are holding up in front of you. I could have told you after five minutes that Yuri’s got a thing for you. You can see it in the way she looks at you when you enter the room.”
“If you could have told me that, why didn’t you?”
“It wasn’t any of my business.”
“It wasn’t any of your — then what are we even talking about?” he asks.
“You wanted to know why you’re in the position you’re in,” I answer. “That is, unless I misread what you were saying.”
My phone rings.
“I just wanted to come and check on you,” he says. “What’s so complicated about that?”
“Well, I’m doing fine,” I respond.
“What is up with you? You’re acting like you don’t want to see me.”
“Maybe I don’t want to see you right now,” I tell him.
It’s a simple enough phrase, but it’s one that always seems to require an explanation.
“Why not?” he asks.
“Because I’m getting sick of explaining everything,” I tell him. The ironic thing is that if he asks me to explain what I just said, I don’t think I’d have a clear response for him.
“If you want me to go, I’ll go,” he says, “but I’m here because I care for you. I wanted to tell you that whatever happens at my hearing, I’m going to play this off as if you had nothing to do with it.”
“I hardly did,” I tell him. “Once you had it in your head you were going to try to get me into the clinical trial, it was going to happen whether I did anything to help it or not.”