Chapter 30
30
Eleanor
In my first month at Atlas Theatrical, they’ve made me the lead agent for a Broadway revival of Barefoot in the Park , starring film actors Joseph Donovan and Sloane Ford, newlyweds in real life and onstage. They’re both from Hollywood legacy families. Classic nepo babies. Lucky for me, neither of them minds talking about their famous families. It makes for a lot of great press opportunities. More actors should be this way—honest about their upbringing and the opportunities it’s offered them. Being in on the joke makes them way more interesting than any of their peers who attempt to deny it.
Today we’re at the Condé Nast offices, where Sloane and Joseph are getting set up for a lie detector interview. They’ll ask each other playful questions about their life and relationship, hopefully sneaking in some references to their upcoming play in the process. It’s always a well-received PR move, and they’re a perfect pairing for this interview style. It’s not hard-hitting journalism, but it can be riskier than other outlets, and Sloane and Joseph are game for anything.
Joseph gets strapped in first. Sloane begins her interview by asking Joseph if he likes her cooking. When he says yes, the lie detector reader tells him he’s lying. There is laughter all around.
I get an overwhelming urge to text Carson. It’s like being struck by lightning, how quickly it happens. I have no choice but to pull out my phone. I convince myself that the more impulsive this decision is, the less pressure there is around it.
Eleanor: Have you gotten any other reviews on your cooking since I left?
When several minutes pass without a response, the only thought that gives me peace is remembering that Carson was the one who asked me to be their hookup buddy. We had an agreed-upon situation, and the fact that I left without a word is not unusual behavior for that kind of dynamic. Before the engagement disaster, there were weeks where I didn’t speak to Anthony. Some of the names on my roster I used to reach out to once a year. We never acted like it was odd to do that.
It’s not strange for me to have texted Carson out of the blue right now. Not strange at all.
As the minutes continue passing, my peace turns to resignation. They aren’t answering me because we shouldn’t speak. I should know better than to try to change that.
Which is why I drop my phone onto Joseph Donovan’s feet when Carson does text me back, right as the interview is wrapping up. I haven’t even read the message. Just Carson’s name on the screen shoots an unexpected bolt of energy through me, and my phone goes flying out of my hand.
“You all right?” Joseph asks, picking up the device. He has a lovely Irish lilt and one of those soul-piercing gazes, eyes so blue it’s unnerving.
“My apologies,” I tell him. The last time I spoke about my personal life in any work-related capacity resulted in my getting fired. I’m certainly not going to divulge my romantic details to an actor I’m tasked with accompanying from place to place on a press tour.
It’s Joseph’s wife, Sloane, who grabs the phone from Joseph and hands it over to me. “Texting someone you like?” she asks with a pleasant curiosity.
“Yeah. It’s my…ex,” I say. “Anyway, they want us to wait in the green room here. It should only be about an hour before we do the next segment. We already ordered your lunch. It’ll be here any minute.”
Joseph sits down on the green room couch and folds his foot across his thigh. Sloane plops down next to him, placing her head on his shoulder and tucking her feet under her as she looks at me.
“What happened with your ex?” she asks.
“They live in Illinois, and I live here,” I say.
I don’t know why I even indulge this conversation. Or why I’m continuing to pretend Carson was ever my ex in the first place. It’s rather disingenuous of me to call them that. We only knew each other a week. I’ve known the bananas rotting on my kitchen counter for longer.
“Nothing bad?” Joseph confirms.
“No,” I say with too much quickness. “Not at all. They’re a wonderful person. Almost too wonderful…” I trail off, not sure where I’m going with this.
“What did your ex say to you?” Sloane prompts, pointing to my phone.
Checking this notification alone is already hard. Checking it in front of two famous actors I don’t really know? A nightmare. Yet I have to indulge them. Because ultimately, my job today is to keep them happy, and keeping them happy now involves sharing the details of my personal life.
When I open the text to read it, the squeeze in my chest gets so tight that I forget how to breathe.
Carson: I haven’t taken on any new customers since you left.
Eleanor: Good.
My fingers flew over the keys faster than I could think. I read it back, shocked by the possessiveness of my own words. Heart racing, I rush to correct myself.
Eleanor: Just don’t want any softhearted liars in there. They might mislead you.
This also feels like a mistake. I read it again, convincing myself of a hundred interpretations, none of which are kind. Carson could read it like I think they’d only date liars. Or that I’m not softhearted. Or that they’re often getting misled.
“Wow, you’re really in it,” Sloane comments.
My head shoots up, and I look over at her, pasting on the tight smile that’s always gotten me through these kinds of interactions. “Sorry.” I shove my phone into my purse. “They were just saying hello.”
Sloane gives me one of those loaded gazes. Actors and their keen observations. She’s probably writing mental notes in her head about what kind of character I am. “Who broke up with who?”
“I broke up with them,” I say. A lump forms in my throat. I might as well be the actor here, the way I’m creating an entire world that never existed.
No one broke up with anyone. We were never even dating.
This is harmless, though. Sloane and Joseph each have their own personal publicists who are also in the room with us, pretending not to listen but hanging on every word. It’s fine if I make conversation. It’s keeping everyone entertained. It’s my job.
And my job is all I have.
“Do you want to get back together?” Joseph asks.
He and his wife are grilling me the same way they grilled each other when they were strapped into a lie detector vest. Maybe this can be my own version of a lie detector. What would I say if I was sure someone would know I was lying? If I could only tell the truth.
“I miss them,” I say. “And I wish that we were different people living different lives. That’s the only way it would ever work between us.”
“You could be,” Joseph says, sitting up straighter.
I laugh, dismissive, thinking he’s kidding. But he keeps looking at me, probing me to ask more. “Okay, I’ll bite,” I say. “How do I become a different person?”
Sloane nudges Joseph in the shoulder, a wordless conversation unfolding between them that must have to do with how he’s close to crossing the line.
Joseph thinks for a bit before he responds, saying, “Look. If this is something you really want, there might be a way to make it work. That’s all. And maybe that takes you some time, or it takes some big changes, but if there are any broken pieces of this in your control, then you should do whatever you can to fix them. We never have as much time as we think we do.”
When my parents died, I hadn’t seen them in a few months. I’d planned to visit them in the oncoming summer, not wanting to come home until my school year was done.
I never got the chance. I didn’t see the new flowers my mom just planted in the garden, or the way my dad finally replaced the drainpipe that had been plaguing him every time it rained. Those were the tiny things that filled most of our phone calls. Mundanities that kept us bonded across state lines. They were details no one would ever think to notice without being prompted. Their house got sold with no one but me knowing any of it.
I became very aware of my place in the world. How up to that point, I’d done nothing to establish myself. That when I died, no one would carry a piece of me with them at all.
I thought it meant I should make a name for myself in my career. That was how I wanted to be remembered. The best way to make an impression would be to work so hard no one could possibly forget me. That my replaced drainpipes and new flower gardens might get lost, but the everlasting impact of the shows I helped promote would be remembered for decades to come. My name would be in every Playbill .
Now I know with certainty that my work will never keep me in anyone’s memory. No matter how good I am at my job, I am replaceable. If I got up and walked out of this room, one of my coworkers would begrudgingly take my position, and Sloane and Joseph wouldn’t even notice the change.
Keeping my composure, I look Joseph in the eyes as I say, “Very true.” I place a firmness in my voice that lets him know there’s nothing left to say on the subject. It’s not harsh. I wouldn’t make the talent hate me. Not on purpose, at least. It’s just a boundary. No more discussing this. It’s not entertainment anymore.
Our lunch arrives, providing the perfect transition. Sloane and Joseph slide into their own conversation as they eat. Their personal teams chat among themselves. I get out my phone again.
Carson: I wouldn’t trust any other person’s opinion of my food. Only yours.
It’s such a relief I bite back my smile, not wanting Sloane or Joseph to notice. But I think of Joseph’s words, and it prompts me to respond to Carson with something a little deeper.
Eleanor: How have you been?
I’m sorry I left , I add, deleting it before sending. That’s too far. We’re not there yet.
Carson: Bored.
Eleanor: Wishing for yet another secret sibling to appear?
Carson: I’m at a clinic right now, having my DNA tested. Ben can’t be the only one.
Eleanor: You’re looking to build an army of Wards. The world wants more of your kind.
Carson: You know what everyone is always saying. We need more nonbinary queers around here!
I can’t help it; I smile.
Eleanor: I overheard three old women on the train saying the same thing on my commute this morning.
Carson: The elderly tend to be the loudest on the subject. Every day another granny falls to her knees and prays for more trans representation in her life.
Eleanor: You know what they say? Be the change you wish to see in the world.
They send back an emoji of the globe surrounded by little stars.
Eleanor: Did you get to paint the mural for the park district yet?
This creates a longer pause than I’d like. Maybe the game between us is to never mention anything too personal. Then, let me lose it. It’s not like I’ve been any good at playing in the first place.
Carson: I’m ashamed to say they still haven’t even let me start. I told them in our initial contract that they could request two adjustments to my initial design. So far they’ve requested five. Waiting to hear back on that last round.
Eleanor: I wouldn’t take you for such a pushover.
I send it off too soon. It’s careless and rude, not at all how I want to be around Carson.
Eleanor: If memory serves, the townsfolk over there tend to think of you as trouble.
Carson: My memory seems to tell me you were the Trouble with a capital T.
Eleanor: Hmm…
Carson: I’ve been in a bit of a funk these days.
Eleanor: Why a funk? I thought you were bored.
Carson: Bored of my funk.
I disappoint myself by letting them get out of answering me in earnest. If they’d told me it was because of me, it would have given me permission to admit I’m in a funk too.
But I’m not. At least not professionally. This is the busiest I’ve ever been. Not to mention the fact that I’ve managed to keep my apartment relatively clean too, which might be the biggest accomplishment of all. The only place I feel different is in the core of me—the one place that can’t be touched by work or living spaces or whatever other things I do to fill my time. My essence has been changed, and it’s such an unfamiliar shift that to acknowledge it is to admit that I don’t want to be lonely anymore. That I’ve never wanted to be lonely, and all the years I’ve let myself live this way were years I was too scared of all the ways I am capable of wanting more. The want I possess could move mountains if I let it. And I’m dangerously close to letting it do just that.
Eleanor: Well, I hope the funk passes soon.
Carson: I’m not too sure it will. But I do take great stock in your hopes for me.
“Are you making it work?” Joseph asks me.
When I look up, Sloane’s salad bite hovers in front of her lips as Joseph steeps a tea bag into a to-go cup.
“I don’t know,” I say. “But I think I want to.”
“Good.” Joseph looks to Sloane as if my answer has solved something for both of them.
Eleanor: Let’s catch up on a video call soon. I want to see your face.