Chapter 24 #2
I nearly jumped in surprise. “I am?”
He sighed. “You’re really missing my whole point.”
I pulled up my feet, hugged my arms around my knees.
“I made this film the other year. It was everything I wanted out of this, you know? I felt really challenged by the role, shooting with the director was a really collaborative experience, and when Academy voters didn’t seem to care … it hurt a lot.”
“Yeah, but you fucking made something you were proud of.” His tone was only a little exasperated. “In the scheme of things, that’ll sustain you longer. You let go of worrying about what people think, you’re going to do even more incredible things. I promise.”
“I know that you’re right,” I said. “Mostly, at least. But I also feel like men get to say things like their careers soar when they don’t worry about what other people think. Me, if I didn’t worry about it at least somewhat, I wouldn’t have a career to begin with.”
He shrugged. “Sure, maybe.”
“Like, when men throw their weight around to try to show everyone they’re in charge,” I said, pointedly, “even when they’re explicitly not … that’s also worrying about what other people think.”
Michael raised an eyebrow. “You saying something specific here?”
“I just want to know why it’s weak for women to want the approval of others but strong when men are, all, Hey, Princess Platinum, you don’t belong here, or, Hey, female director, here’s an idea for you, so everyone knows we should trust you more and you’re the one actually running things.”
“I never called her female director.”
“Would you have been doing that in front of Geoffrey Gordan, though?” I asked, and I felt him shift beside me.
“Probably not. God, I feel like such a fucking asshole about all of that,” he said, and I tried to process those words coming out of his mouth on that topic. “You know we go way back.”
“Two of your Tonys,” I said.
“Yep. A side note that next time we work together I hope you have everyone’s awards stats less memorized, Tess. Anyway. There was always shit with women, sometimes they’d be crying backstage or outside of the rehearsal hall, and, you know. Geoff was always all—”
“‘Bitches be crazy’?”
“Something like that. And me, just agreeing. So much of my career’s wrapped up in working with him and having this friendship.
It was easier to believe someone lied or got her feelings hurt than this person—this artist, my friend—was capable of that.
I got here thinking I’d be working with a collaborator, and someone complains and—anyway.
I read that Times piece and couldn’t have felt like a bigger asshole. ”
“It would have been nice if we could have felt that from you,” I admitted.
“I assumed you were on his side. It must have been so hard for those women to come forward. Instead of being the guy who goes in and throws his weight around to pretend he’s in charge, you could be the guy who shows up and calls bullshit on abusers and makes women and non-binary people feel heard. ”
“I’m genuinely irritated at how thoughtful you are,” he said, and I laughed.
“Oh my god, Michael, how do you think I feel right now?”
“You doing OK?” he asked. “In general? You’ve seemed …”
I shrugged, feeling tender and raw and also, somehow, very safe. “I’m a little heartbroken. A lot heartbroken, really. I had … something very special, and now it’s over. But the show’s been good for me.”
“We should get back,” he said, standing up. “But I hear you. There’s a reason we all keep doing this. Almost nowhere I’d rather be. I assume same for you, except a valet lot.”
I followed him to the elevator and hit the button for our floor. “I think valet lot’s fallen to number two, actually.”
I second- and third- and fourth-guessed myself regarding Ari Fox’s industry hangout the next night.
I’d assumed that rehearsals would be smoother once the show had been locked, but there was a new awkwardness with this new knowledge it had given us.
Standing on the stage without the logistics of tech in the way made it feel new yet again.
We weren’t in our rehearsal room anymore—a place I’d never expected to end up feeling so safe—and getting back into being Casey alongside my fellow cast members, I felt weeks of work ebb.
When I went in hard in a conversation with Henry and Michael as Steven and John, their energy didn’t match mine—or each other’s—so I toned it down and felt my overcorrection misfire.
It might as well have been day one again.
The work at least teased at being this great distraction from the rest of my life.
Despite how much I tried to stay emotionally in every moment alongside my fictional family in my fictional home, though, moments of real life shot in anyway.
It was impossible to forget everything that made it clear that things were actually nothing like day one—and every time the real world elbowed back in, it was hard not to stare at Rebecca and wonder what she was thinking.
I tried to hone in on whatever Kathleen had seen in her, but if Rebecca’s same-business-different-day attitude was smoke and mirrors, I couldn’t tell.
Early on in the process, during an intimacy director session, we’d been urged to put it all down at the end of the day, not to hold too tight to the world of the story and our characters.
But what were you supposed to do when it all bled together?
How could I put down Casey’s story alongside my own?
So the thought of another evening, just me and Rosie, didn’t feel like something I wanted or that would be very good for me.
I grabbed a bottle of wine, got Rosie leashed up, and jumped in my car to head over to the address Ari had texted, just off Sunset in Echo Park.
Max was parking across the street as I got out of the car with Rosie, and I was relieved I’d have someone to walk inside with.
“I am so excited I get to meet your dog!” Max darted across the street, clutching a huge glass pitcher that seemed about half her height. “Sorry, Sadie said she’d make me drinks to bring, I didn’t know this was their container.”
“Switch with me,” I said, handing her the wine bottle and hoisting up the pitcher. “And, yes, this is Rosie. Rosie, this is Max.”
“This is genuinely maybe the most starstruck I’ve ever been meeting talent,” Max said, laughing as she leaned over to pet Rosie.
“So Ari mentioned maybe we all wanted to work together on a project? I wanted to make sure you weren’t just being nice in a meeting—which is fine, I’m nice in meetings all the time—because otherwise I’m gonna go a little bonkers putting this together, and I wanted to get the all-clear first.”
“Go bonkers,” I said, following her to a little sand-colored bungalow surrounded by a tiny lawn of beautiful succulents—Andy would love it. “This is my all-clear.”
“Hell yeah,” Max said, ringing the doorbell. “I have so many ideas. We can do a formal meeting soon with the three of us. Four of us, if Rosie wants to come.”
Rosie barked at that, so we considered that an all-clear from her too.
Ari opened the door for us, and gave me a tour of the cozy two-bedroom, full of bookcases and bright artwork on the walls and of course her Oscar tucked in a mostly inconspicuous nook.
Max, Rosie, and I were the first there, but other women arrived: another actor, a showrunner, a marketing exec.
Everyone was queer—and I knew that my presence here said that I was, too—and everyone seemed low-key, as Ari had promised.
She introduced me as my friend, Tess, and though I was good at reading the hidden surprise on people’s faces, it didn’t grate here.
I trusted Max, and already I trusted Ari, and so now my number was ten people, double digits, and I was OK.
Ari’s dog turned out to be an exceedingly well-behaved border collie who sat quietly while Rosie grunted like a gremlin after midnight, but we took them out into the backyard and cracked up as they raced each other, i.e.
, the border collie ran laps around Rosie.
The thing about Rosie was, though, that she never seemed bothered; she just kept running her little goblin run and falling over and getting up.
She was the most inspiring thing in my whole world.
At home I tabbed to my text chain with Aisha. I’m not sure I want to do the Q&A, but is it cool if I still show up to our movie? I want to see it together and I’m sorry I acted like such a jerk about it.
I held my breath while the three dots flashed.
Really? Is that what you want to ask me?
My heart raced but I decided not to put my phone aside. I could power through. Aisha deserved that, and more. “Are you still mad at me?” felt like an embarrassing way to start TBH LOL
Oh my god Tess why do you capitalize things like a boomer!
Aisha, I’m so sorry about everything. I know I’ve been a disaster but I feel really inspired by everyone around me to be better and to try harder in general but specifically with you and the friendship you deserve from me.
I appreciate that, she texted, and then, And it is more than cool if you just show up. You doing ok?
I sighed and looked to Rosie, who was nibbling on her toenails like a little princess. To be honest I’m really sad. Rebecca and I broke up and I’m not handling it well.
I KNEW THOSE FLOWERS WEREN’T FROM YELP!!
Oh yeah, you really cracked the code of “xoxo” not coming from a business, way to go, detective of the year.
I’m glad you finally told me. Do I need to kick her ass?
No, it was a mutually doomed situation.
Thank god, she’s like 7 inches taller than me. And then: How mad is Erica about your speeding ticket?
Oh she’d definitely tear up my contract if I hadn’t just signed for 4. I reached over to scratch between Rosie’s ears. I’m really, really sorry. I love you and even when things are hard in my life I want to be better to you.
I know, and I love you too. Get your shit together and you know I’m not going anywhere.