Chapter 12
T-I-D-E T-O G-O
When Kevin pulled me aside the next week, I assumed another one-on-one with Rebecca was imminent.
There was no note of panic within me, which felt like—well, progress, or something like it.
I could tell my performance had strengthened since we’d worked together, even though I worried I still wasn’t in my body quite enough.
And whoever we were together now—actor and director—was something new but maybe not altogether uncomfortable.
Once upon a time I’d done something terrible to her, but Rebecca had survived, become the most confident and competent person I’d ever met, and at some point our interactions had become less loaded with terrible possibilities.
“As you know, your team needs some time with you this afternoon,” Kevin said, which was news to me.
I didn’t love that Joyce, Erica, and company were now skipping over me and going directly to …
the stage manager? But also, of course they were.
“So I’ve got you slotted for another hour off after lunch, though we will need you back as on-the-dot as you can make it. ”
“Of course,” I said.
“And before the donor dinner tonight, we have the lounge available for your hair and makeup team as requested.”
As far as I knew, there was no official photographer at tonight’s donor dinner, so I’d thought I could escape my styling team. Kathleen, I thought, I would have given you a heads-up!
“Do you know if that’s set in stone?” I asked in my nicest inflection. “I hate how it’ll look to the rest of the cast.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” he said brightly. “The rest of the cast isn’t even invited.”
Oh, great. I’d hoped the dinner would be a chance to feel more like a part of them, less the girl pulled out for feature interviews.
But today wasn’t going to be one of those days, because everyone else in the cast ended up walking down Grand to grab salads and sandwiches from the Italian spot everyone agreed was mediocre but convenient, while I sat alone in the lounge, eating my leftovers and reading a book.
It wouldn’t have been a big deal, probably, to join them, but I hated the risk in spaces I wasn’t familiar with.
Just the other month, Aisha and I had hopped into a coffee shop to grab caffeine (her) and sparkling lemonade (me), and the cashier shouted Princess Platinum, oh my god!
and it was like the seal was broken. A line of customers jostled to take my photo, get a selfie with me, touch my hair, shout that they loved me.
It was tough explaining that inside of it, the crowds didn’t feel adoring but dangerous, and telling your colleagues you were afraid to buy a salad because you might be mobbed sounded even more entitled than sitting alone.
After everyone was back from lunch and I was hoping to fall into a conversation—any conversation!—that might unite us all, Kevin walked in to lead me to an office in the administrative area that was mostly empty besides some spare office supplies, a garment bag, and a Polaroid of two little kids.
“We have no idea whose office this is,” Kevin said, “in case you’re about to ask about those kids. But whenever Rebecca or I need an office, they tell us to use this one.”
“I wasn’t going to ask about the kids until you brought them up,” I said.
“I named them Gertie and Leroy,” Kevin said. “Rebecca said that it was rude to name other people’s children, but she’s now also referring to this as Gertie and Leroy’s office, so there you have it.”
“Thanks for the inside scoop,” I said, and nodded to the garment bag. “Is that a change of clothes for Gertie and Leroy?”
“As much as I’d love to flesh out their storyline, that is actually Rebecca’s since she’s also headed straight to the dinner tonight,” he said.
My phone buzzed with Joyce’s name displayed. “Ugh, sorry. I really appreciate your flexibility with the schedule, but I have to take this.”
“You’re all good,” he said, leaving the office and closing the door behind him. I took a seat and stared at Leroy and Gertie before answering the call.
“Hi, Ms. Gardner, it’s Benjamin with Joyce and the rest of your team on the line. May I put them through?”
“Of course, thank you, Benjamin,” I said, and waited for the click of the transfer.
“Tess, thanks for making yourself available,” Joyce said in her most polished tone. “I’m emailing you a recap of the negotiated Plaid Thanksgiving offer, and I think you’ll be very happy.”
“The schedule’s definitely more to your liking,” Max said.
It was obvious she’d been assigned the role of my cheerleader.
“And the good news is that it’s mostly filming in New Mexico—just a couple weeks overseas—which I know is much better for you, especially if you’d like to bring Rosie, which of course you can.
She’s negotiated into your deal, as you’ll see from Joyce’s email. ”
“The publicity tour will be worldwide,” Erica said. “But of course we’ve heard your requests, and our goal is to land you some features about your entire career, not just this franchise. That said—”
Joyce cut in. “Let’s wrap this part of the conversation up first, shall we? Tess, we’d love to hear any remaining concerns. Otherwise, I’d like to request your official contract so we can get this into motion.”
“I’d like to take a look at the email before I agree to anything,” I said.
“Of course, of course. But ideally I’d love to get your yes by—”
“This isn’t a decision I want to rush into,” I said. “Is there a drop-dead? Could you send that over as well, please?”
Joyce sighed in a way that let me know I’d displeased her but still lightly enough that she held all the plausible deniability she wanted. “Absolutely. Benjamin is putting together a tentative schedule for you, and we’ll be sure to send that.”
Riley and Max talked a bit more about how closing out the franchise in a big way could serve all of my career goals, and Joyce popped back into the conversation to pull that Princess Platinum spinoff back into the mix.
After all, couldn’t that only help me more?
I thought about asking how doing more and more movies I was less interested in would help me make the movies I actually wanted to be making, but I was mainly feeling snarky and wasn’t sure the humor would translate or I’d just look like a bitch.
At this point it was very hard for me to imagine not signing on for Vindicators 4 but I still wanted it to feel like a choice I was making and not something I was bullied into.
The third film had shot in Germany, and it had been hard being that far away for so long; having Rosie by my side and my people only a two-hour flight away was definitely appealing. Appealing-er, at least.
“Getting back to your press,” Erica said in a tone that suggested she did not appreciate being corralled by Joyce, “I wouldn’t say that we’re fully in damage control territory, but I would like to soften your image a bit after the incident last week in which you barked an order about editorial approval across an entire room that included a journalist, like you’re new at this. ”
“I’d hardly call it an incident,” I said.
“You know to route any request through me,” Erica said. “I have no idea what you were thinking—”
“I was thinking that if I asked you privately that you would give me lip service about it but then go on to select the photos in which I looked youngest and thinnest. I needed to make sure Kathleen was taken care of.”
“Be that as it may,” Erica said, “I wouldn’t mind finding an opportunity to show Annie a different side of you. We’re brainstorming some charity opportunities—I think your whole pug dog thing has about run its course.”
“You can just say pug,” I muttered.
“Sorry, I missed that?”
“Actually, I have a great idea,” I said. “As you know, my best friend runs an arts camp that operates as a nonprofit. I’m sure I could, you know, stop by, teach some kids about acting, drop off whatever supplies they need. Is that too transparent, though?”
“We’ll handle it,” Erica said. “And there’s tonight’s donor dinner. We did some recon and it doesn’t look like there’s anyone who owns or is employed by a media outlet, but I do ask that nonetheless you bear this conversation in mind tonight.”
“Of course,” I said.
Erica talked through my upcoming press schedule and how she’d ideally like to connect it with the Vindicators 4 announcement, and I mainly zoned out while the rest of the team jumped back into outlining my next few years.
My phone buzzed with a text from an unknown 502 number while it sat in front of me on speaker, and I tapped to it.
“You can just say pug” I had to mute my phone before I shriek-laughed
Max and I had unprofessionally DM’d before, before we’d both realized Erica had access to my social accounts and was likely reading our snarky private messages. It’s a pet peeve. No pun intended.
A PET pet peeve! (sorry) Whoops, I stopped paying attention to the call, which is deeply unprofessional, as are these messages.
LOL same and same!
I saved Max’s cell to my contact info and tuned back in.
Luckily Erica was still going and it was more of the same.
The hour was nearly used up, and I was able to politely extract myself so I could get back to rehearsal.
The garment bag, though, caught my eye as I stood up, and I told myself not to and then absolutely unzipped it to see a black Ralph Lauren suit hanging neatly next to a bright white button-down.
The open bag released some sort of scent—the way Rebecca smelled when you were close to her, jasmine and amber and something smoky—and I frantically rezipped it and hoped Rebecca wouldn’t notice and figure out some absolute psycho had stared at her clothing and (only briefly) touched the fabric.
Could a person go feral?