All this probably had something to do with the Return from Grand Rapids Sex. It had been pretty great, which made things even more confusing. Ana supposed that it wasn't too hard to figure out how and why that had happened. She comes back from Grand Rapids all hot and bothered and, for the first time in a long time, she and Joe set the sheets aflame. She hadn't planned to attack Joe the second she walked in, but it had just turned out that way. Whether it was residual lust or guilt or just that he was being so kind to her that made it happen, it was apparently just the sort of mind-emptying activity that she had needed at the moment. She also wanted to feel close to Joseph again, just to know that she still could. It was somewhat comforting to her that although the image of Bruce in the hallway occasionally flashed through her mind, that was definitely Joe with whom she was making love, not some sort of stand-in penis. Not that she hadn't ever fantasized about another man during sex with Joe, but it was usually some random dude she'd encountered at the library or the boho barista from the Limbus. Never anybody she actually knew. She kept telling herself that she hadn't done that much with Bruce, but it still felt like what it was: an emotional betrayal.
It wasn't much better at work. She even felt guilty for not telling Adrienne, though she was pretty sure that would not help anything. Besides, then someone else would know, which would make it seem all the more real and therefore worse. Was there any need to even talk about it? Especially when it had been so easy for everybody involved to act as though nothing had happened? To Ana, that now felt like the best course of action at the agency, where as always, the perception was indeed more important than the reality. It was Adrienne's dreamy twilight truth: If you act like nothing happened, then nothing happened.
Adrienne had required a short debriefing about the whole trip, but there wasn't even time to get into much detail. Ana filled her friend in on the meeting, the way Karin had attempted to trap her into looking like a liberal baby-killer who was trying to turn their audience into bra-burning, free-thinking, family-abandoning harlots. Adrienne high-fived her (semi-ironically) on the way she handled it, and that was that. Until Friday afternoon came around and Bruce called a meeting at six o'clock.
"What a dick-y thing to do on a Friday afternoon," said Adrienne, clicking shut her computer, which was balanced precariously on her knees. "Is it just me or is this happening more and more these days? The fucking six o'clock meeting—it's like no one is even supposed to consider going home at a normal time. Even that little shit Tara is doing it now."
"It's not your imagination. I think it has something to do with rising in the ranks."
"Really?"
"Apparently, the more important you are, the less important your free time is."
"Ana?" said Adrienne, turning to her, head cocked, eyelashes fluttering, her voice puddin' sweet. "My darling, supertalented, awesomely superlative, hyperbole-inspiring art director partner." It was never good when Adrienne laid on the schmaltz like this.
"What?" Ana said, as sternly as she could.
"I was planning to meet the man with possibilities after work."
Ana tried not to panic. "Can't you just push it back an hour or so? I'm sure it won't be a long meeting. Everyone wants to get home."
"Ana, please? Could you just cover the meeting for me? We were supposed to meet for happy hour after work."
Her throat felt like it was constricting. "I thought you were going to cover for me next time."
"I will. And the next time."
Ana pushed the breath out of her lungs, thinking that would lift the anxiety she was currently experiencing. "No."
Adrienne started to pout, which Ana hated as much as the sweet talk. But disappointment soon shifted to suspicion. Ana was usually an indulgent guardian. She knew her face was betraying her, revealing too much.
"I can't always be covering for you," Ana said, trying to sound uncaring, hoping it would lead to an argument, something she could actually handle right now.
"Are you okay?" asked Adrienne, reaching for her hand across the desk. "Is something wrong?" She clumsily petted Ana's fingers.
After this small display of affection, it became more difficult to dodge the question. "Nothing," she said, with little conviction.
Adrienne set her laptop aside, got up, closed the door of Ana's office, and sat back down on the love seat, perched on the edge, leaning forward. "Okay, you need to tell me what's going on."
Ana leaned forward in her chair. She took a breath and tried to settle her voice before she spoke. "Something happened with Bruce and me in Grand Rapids." She lowered her voice. "There was . . . contact."
Adrienne stared at her blankly, as though she didn't understand. "Contact? What are you talking about? Like what kind of contact?" Then the horrible recognition in her eyes. "Oh shit. You mean like physical contact?"
Ana nodded.
"Oh my god. Did you guys—"
"No, no. We didn't do that, I swear." Ana shivered. Avoiding Adrienne's gaze, she shifted her eyes to the computer screen in front of her. It had been a few minutes since she had touched the keyboard, so her screen saver activated and a personal photo had popped up on the screen. Of course it was Joe. It was a picture that usually made her smile, of a trip the two of them had taken up north to Mackinac Island. Joe in a cheesy souvenir store, wearing a big Dr. Seuss hat with dreadlocks attached to it. She hit the space bar and it evaporated, returning to a Photoshop layout for a possible WomanLyfe ad. The headline read in Gotham Condensed Bold type: The life with time for everyone.
Finally, Ana spoke. "It came very close to that. There was kissing and touching and feeling and rubbing and stuff. But I stopped it."
"Really? You kissed him? You? Are you kidding me?"
Ana looked straight at Adrienne and spoke deliberately: "I assure you that I am not kidding."
Adrienne stared at the floor for a moment, then up at her, visibly stunned. "I just can't believe it. You? Ms. Monogamy? I mean, what the what, Ana?"
Ana twirled her thermal mug, which had been drained of its contents hours ago. "Shit, Ade, I don't know. I messed up." She was a little surprised at this response by her friend. Somehow, she had expected her to be more sympathetic, more like Lady Talk, which was what they liked to call it when they were sharing information about men. Granted, Lady Talk was mostly Adrienne sharing information about the guys she had sex with, since Ana didn't care to divulge much about her and Joe (especially since she'd had so little to divulge lately), but it wasn't like that at all. "I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize to me. I'm just surprised." Adrienne sat back on the love seat, her fuchsia scoop T-shirt bright against the lime-green cashmere. "Did you tell Joe?"
"No, I didn't. Do you think I should?"
"No. Absolutely not. Do not tell him."
Hearing that brought back the full brunt of heaviness Ana had felt after it had all occurred, and she sighed.
"So what happened?"
"I don't know, it just happened." Ana didn't want to get into details. "All you need to know is that I don't want to be alone with him in the same room."
Adrienne gave her a look that she couldn't decipher—it could have been worry or disgust or anger or something else.
"What?" she finally said. "What is it?"
"You're in the market for trouble, missy. You're in the Big Mistake lot, kicking tires."
"I know, I know."
"Do you want to fuck him?" Adrienne said in a low voice. "Is that why you're so afraid of being in the same room with him? Do you want it to happen again?"
"Stop it. Don't say that." Ana rested her hands on her keyboard, stared down at them. Then finally, she said, "I don't know. No."
Adrienne took a breath and stared straight at her. "I'm going to give you the same advice you gave me: I think it's a bad idea."
* * *
While they were waiting for Bruce to show at the meeting, Adrienne didn't speak to Ana at all. Then Tara walked in and Ana realized that she hadn't had to say anything a
bout any of it. So stupid. She watched as Adrienne sat there with her phone, furiously texting. Presumably, it was her after-work date, but Ana didn't dare ask.
When Bruce entered the room (6:14 p.m., Creative Director Time), clutching his titanium Mac, he looked tired and tense as he grabbed the chair just off the end of the long conference table. He did that a lot, Ana noticed, avoiding the seat at the head of the table, as if trying not to be the person in charge, though he indisputably was that man. He was always trying to be just one of the creatives. The only time she'd seen him sit at the head of the table at a meeting was a couple of years ago, and it was because all the other seats had been taken. Everyone had saved that seat at the front for Bruce. Jerrod, always looking for a chance to suck up, had said: "You're the head of the family, Bruce. I guess you get to carve up the ideas." Everyone had laughed, but she just remembered Bruce looking uncomfortable.
He opened up his computer and matter-of-factly started the meeting. "I just got off the phone with Karin at WomanLyfe and she informed me that they need new TV immediately."
Adrienne turned off the ringer on her cell and placed it facedown on the table. "Really. Just how immediate is she talking about?"
"Oh, like right now. If she could have them tomorrow, she'd still be mad that they didn't have them today."
Ana was shocked. "What happened? I thought we had time to work out a new campaign for them."
"Oh, we still do," said Bruce, clicking something with his touch pad, then closing the top of his machine partway. "She just suddenly decided that they needed what she called an interim campaign. Which is a nice way of saying that they want more of their shitty low-budget testimonials."
"I knew it," seethed Adrienne under her breath. "Those holy-rolling sons of bitches. Fucking cock-sucking, goddamn Jesus-in-their-advertising fucktards." It seemed like she was just going to continue this tirade, until she noticed Bruce glaring at her. Adrienne nodded curtly. "Moving on."
"We have to get going on this right now. I get the feeling that the company loves us, but that we're wearing thin on Karin."
Now this, thought Ana. She might as well get it over with. "Is it because of the 'pro-woman' thing, Bruce?"
He dropped his hands to the table. "Who knows? I thought we handled that well. Maybe she's just pissed that we didn't fall into her trap and expose ourselves as the bleeding-heart-liberal, abortion-loving atheists she suspects we are."
Bruce's use of "we" made her feel slightly better, as though she were not solely at fault for this. Then she thought, Why would I be at fault? For having a brain? For daring to believe that women have a right to think for themselves? For not buying into all this subjugation of women for the sake of the Christian family? Fuck that. She would do her job the best she could in order to keep this horrible account, but if they lost it, so be it. This was all getting to be too much.
"Just as a little refresher course," said Bruce, turning his computer around and tilting the screen up, "let's watch their old spots. I know we'll be able to do better than them, simply by using a professional director and a talent coach—"
Just then Tara perked up. "Oh, Bruce. I just got a message from Karin that they'll expect us to use the same crews they've used for the previous spots."
There was silence. Bruce put his elbows on the conference table, raised his hands to his forehead, and began massaging his temples. "Well, that's just fucking wonderful."
Tara looked like she wanted to hide behind her PC. "I'm sorry. But her exact words are: We're very fond of the crews and they meet all our technical and spiritual requirements."
"What?"
"She also says that they have all the subjects chosen and ready to shoot." Tara's voice got higher. "I guess they were about to shoot a new set of spots when they got word that we were their new agency."
Another long silence. Bruce's eyes closed again.
"Bruce, why are we their agency?" said Ana. "It's obvious that we don't meet their requirements, spiritual or otherwise." She was going to say something else about the agency and WomanLyfe just not being a good fit, but she realized that Bruce was staring right at her with a very unhappy look on his face, a look that begged, Please shut up. So she did.
Bruce touched his upper lip with his fingers, obscuring his mouth as he spoke. "Find out if their crew is union. That might be a way to get some of our people in there. Tomorrow, call Karin and tell her that since the agency is a SAG signatory, we have to use union crews or we could all be penalized."
"I'm not entirely sure that's true."
"Neither am I, but check with Shonda in talent. Maybe there's something we can say that's close enough to the truth that will allow us to get people in there who actually know how to operate a fucking camera. And how to properly light a subject. This cannot be an embarrassment for the agency."
Tara was rapidly typing everything that Bruce was saying. Ana figured it was better than having to look at the bright rage in Bruce's eyes at that moment.
"You two," he said, now directing his attention to Ana and Adrienne. "Ana, think about how we can make these spots more visually interesting."
She remembered the original spots being static. "Maybe we can get away from the WomanLyfe facilities and shoot them with their families. Doing their favorite things. Or in a park, or at least someplace out in the world instead of in those dingy little gyms, or worse yet, in limbo."
"Yeah, that's at least something. Keep thinking about it." He turned to Adrienne. "Once Tara gets those subjects' stories from Karin, I want you to write scripts that we can get these people to read if their stories aren't compelling enough. Or if they can't put two words together properly."
Tara reluctantly piped up: "Karin says that they don't write scripts—"
Bruce turned back to her so fast, Tara flinched. "I don't give a shit what Karin says. We're writing scripts. Just don't tell her and we'll have them ready in case their new subjects are as verbally feeble as the people on their old spots." He shook his head, then leaned forward and reached around to his computer's touch pad. He hit the play button on a QuickTime video, clicked to full screen, and they all watched the old WomanLyfe spots.
Ana had seen them once and had felt no need to view them ever again. They were heavy, sad, unhealthy-looking women standing in front of a green screen with the WomanLyfe facilities chroma-keyed behind them. The lighting was atrocious; some of the subjects had worn green, which made various parts of their bodies disappear into the background. The sound was bumped up almost into distortion and well beyond appropriate, not to mention legal limits.
And the performances. Oh, the performances. It was obvious none of them had ever set foot in front of a camera before, which wasn't uncommon for testimonial commercials. Usually, there was a certain technique involved with testimonials. You did multiple takes, with close-ups and wide shots so you had something to cut to. You put together all the least horrible bits into a tolerable testimonial. You didn't just do a locked-down shot of someone who could barely speak, key in product footage behind them, and call it a commercial. But that's what WomanLyfe had done. And it had made them a success.
4
23
Irony Loves Company
It was a full-scale turnaround from the night of the amazing sex. He had felt like he had gotten his old Ana back that night. Yet just as abruptly as the old one had appeared, the new one returned. It was disorienting. Even when Ana was around, she was distant, skittish, and easily annoyed with him. She was happier with her computer, taking care of work details. When he hugged her, she allowed it, but he could tell that she wanted to squirm away. He would have loved to have the communicative, nonworkaholic, active-sex-partner Ana around just a little longer. Would that have been so wrong?
Joe prepared dinner the evening before she left for her shoot in Chicago.
Something special for her last night in town—linguini with olive oil and aged Parmesan cheese, some fresh steamed green beans with slivered almonds, and an arugula salad
with dried Michigan cherries and a balsamic vinaigrette. Pretty fancy for him. Sure, it had taken longer to shop than to actually prepare dinner, but still, he had wanted it to be nice.
After he served it, Ana had a few bites of the pasta, then her iPhone pinged for the third time since she had sat down at the table. She had taken to eating dinner with it there on the rare occasion that they actually ate together.
"Goddamn Tara," she said angrily. "Don't these people ever stop working?" She picked up the phone to read the message.
Joe couldn't help but to comment, "They're probably saying the same thing about you."
Ana took a dramatic breath and looked at him as if she knew he was right but there was no way she was going to admit it. She just started e-mailing.
"Good idea," he said, allowing a harsh edge to his voice. "You wouldn't want to accidentally talk to me or anything like that."
Ana's head fell forward. "Please don't do this, Joe." It was just the sort of thing that set her off lately.
"I'm sorry."
She kept her eyes on the plate of food before her. "I'm trying to be okay."
"What do you mean?"
A look of concern crossed her face. "I . . . I'm just trying to keep up. It's really hard."
After sending her e-mail, she pushed the dinner plate away and concentrated on the salad. She took a few more bites, then pushed it aside too.
"That was great," Ana said, before glancing away distractedly. It was like she couldn't keep her eyes on him for more than two seconds. She then moved her chair back from the table, picked up her phone and her glass of wine. "Look, I'm sorry. I need to go check on this. It's really important."
"Sure. Okay. Of course," said Joe, trying not to sound hurt.
The Narcissism of Small Differences Page 19