Chapter Nineteen #2
‘We’ve got some bad news, I’m afraid.’ Susan’s expression is grave. But Bernard looks like he’s trying not to smile.
I do not want to hear bad news when I’m not wearing any underwear, but I can hardly ask them to go outside while I put my pants back on.
‘It’s about Adam,’ says Susan.
‘Adam Pender?’ My stomach lurches at the name.
‘Of course.’ Bernard’s tone is icy.
‘He hurt his knee on the lot last week,’ says Susan.
‘Because you, Ms McDermott, told him about the kidnapping scene,’ says Bernard.
‘I … I didn’t know—’ I begin, but Bernard interrupts me.
‘Maybe in your old job you were in the habit of telling actors exactly what their future storylines were, but that’s not how we do it here at Northside,’ he says.
‘And especially with Adam. Our regular writers know not to breathe a single word to him. This’ –he gives Susan a sharp look – ‘is what happens when you hire incompetent, ignorant newcomers.’
‘Now, hang on,’ says Art.
But Bernard ignores him. ‘Adam needs to be handled carefully. And our old writers would have known that.’
‘But I heard Adam was okay after the fall,’ I say.
‘Oh, is that what you heard?’ says Bernard. ‘Well, he isn’t. His fall aggravated an old injury. He contacted the consultant who treated him the last time and luckily for Adam, but not for this show, the consultant’s had a cancellation so he can see him next week.’
Art gets up and stands next to me, hands on his hips. ‘What exactly does that mean?’
‘It means …’ Susan looks like she’s about to cry.
‘It means he won’t be able to shoot next Friday.
The day he’s meant to be shooting your and Annie’s hospital scenes.
He was lucky to get a cancellation. If the specialist doesn’t see him now he could be waiting a year.
We can’t refuse him time off for medical treatment. ’
‘What?’ I say.
‘So he’ll be gone all day Friday?’ says Art. ‘For one medical appointment?’
‘Have you ever seen a doctor, Mr Sullivan?’ says Bernard. ‘A consultant?’
Art pinches the bridge of his nose, takes a deep breath and says, ‘I have.’
‘Well,’ says Bernard, ‘then you’ll know it’s impossible to predict how long an appointment like this will take.
Adam has to get from one side of the city to the other in the middle of the day and then he could be waiting for hours.
He could be told he has to immediately rest his leg.
We have no idea what will happen. We need to assume he won’t be able to shoot at all next Friday and make alternative plans. ’
‘But …’ I can barely get the words out. ‘Those Friday scenes are the climax of the anniversary episodes! I need him!’
‘Well,’ says Bernard, ‘you can’t have him.’
And then I remember what we heard him say about the doctor.
He’s been planning this since Adam’s accident. He got Adam this appointment days ago and he kept it from us until now, the very last minute, the day before our scripts are due.
The messing with the notes was just a mind game. This is his trump card.
And the worst thing, the very worst thing of all, is that I gave it to him by telling Adam about the kidnapping stunt. It’s all my stupid fault.
‘So … so what does this mean?’ says Art.
‘You’re going to have to rewrite all your hospital scenes,’ says Susan.
‘I wish we could shoot them on another day, but the schedule’s too tight.
There just isn’t time.’ She turns to me.
‘Obviously we still need to include the kidnapping. But if we don’t see Adam’s face when Louisa kidnaps him, then we can use a double and overdub his dialogue.
It won’t be as dramatic, obviously, but … ’
And in that moment I think, I can’t.
Ever since I started this soul-crushing job I’ve been trying so hard to keep going, to not get overwhelmed. I’ve kept pushing through everything that’s been thrown at me. But whenever I feel like I’m getting somewhere, something happens to push me back and I can’t, I can’t take any more of it.
It’s too much. It’s all just too much. The relentlessness of it, the knowledge that I told Adam and the guilt about that, on top of the fact that none of my work has made any difference, that the deck was always stacked against me, that the optimism I was feeling just ten minutes earlier was stupid and misguided, that my dream job has been such an utter failure to the extent that if what Gina said is true, I might even be blamed for the demise of Northside …
I’ve fucked up so badly. I’ve messed up my episode and my job and maybe even the whole show – Jesus, so many people might lose their jobs – and my parents will be so upset and everyone is going to hate me and oh God, I’ve fucked up Art’s episode as well as my own and he’s going to blame me, he’s going to hate me too, he’s probably hating me right now …
I can’t snarl at Bernard. I can’t snap at him. I can’t do anything. I feel utterly beaten. I feel broken.
Congratulations, Bernard. You’ve won.
He’s smirking at me now. He’s loving this. Well, let him. Fuck him. Fuck everything. My eyes are prickling with angry, despairing tears and my mouth is opening to tell him I quit when I feel a gentle, firm hand on my back. I glance at Art.
‘We’ve got this, Susan,’ he says with conviction, but he doesn’t take his eyes off mine. ‘We can do it.’
‘Brilliant!’ Susan’s clearly relieved to have even a fake assurance of competence.
‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ says Bernard. He turns to me. ‘This wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for you. You might have destroyed our anniversary episode.’
He’s right. I know I didn’t do anything on purpose, but factually he’s right.
‘Now, Bernard,’ says Susan. ‘Annie couldn’t have known—’
‘Annie,’ says Bernard, saying my name as if he’s holding it at arm’s length, ‘is meant to be professional. Well. Clearly not professional enough. I won’t forget this.’
Susan clears her throat. ‘Obviously you’ll get more time to rewrite these scenes. The normal rules don’t apply this week because, well, it’s such an emergency. So if you could get the new versions done by first thing on Monday?’
‘I—’ I begin. Then I gather whatever tiny bit of strength I have left and look Bernard straight in the eye. ‘Sure,’ I say. ‘Monday is fine.’
‘Thanks, guys,’ says Susan. ‘Let me know if you need anything.’
Bernard doesn’t say a word. He just looks at us with contempt, shakes his head and leaves.
As soon as the door closes behind them I realise my hands are shaking.
‘McDermott?’ says Art. ‘Are you okay?’
I shake my head. I can’t say anything because if I start speaking I’ll start crying. I’m really, really not okay. I’ve finally hit a wall, and I’ve hit it very, very hard. I’m not in the mood to hear Art brush off what’s happening, or tell me I have nothing to lose, or there’s no need to worry.
But he doesn’t do any of those things.
He says, ‘God, it’s weird seeing you look so sad. I preferred it when you were glaring at me.’
I can’t deal with him taking the piss right now. ‘I am glaring at you,’ I say, glaring at him, but my voice wobbles as I say it.
‘Oh, Annie, come here,’ says Art, and then he puts his arms around me.
I find myself softening into his embrace as I lean my full weight against him and he holds me tightly.
It’s the first time we’ve been so physically close without kissing or taking each other’s clothes off, and maybe it should be awkward, maybe it should be too intimate, but somehow it isn’t.
Somehow it’s just what I need right now.
For a few moments we stand there, wrapped in each other’s arms, holding each other up.
My face is pressed against his chest and I can hear his heart beating fast through his shirt.
I can feel my own heartbeat too, first racing, then gradually slower as my breathing calms down. Eventually I pull away.
‘Thanks,’ I say, ‘for that.’
‘You’re welcome,’ says Art. ‘I needed it too, to be honest.’ He looks down at me. ‘I meant it, you know. What I said to them. We’ve got this.’
‘Well, you’ll be okay,’ I say. ‘I’m not sure I will. I’m the one whose episode’s biggest moment is totally fucked.’
‘Jesus, McDermott,’ says Art. ‘You don’t think I’m going to leave you on your own with this, do you? I’ll do whatever I can to help your episode. If you want the help, that is. And if you could help me with mine, that would be great too. I think this is a time for teamwork.’
I feel a tiny bit, just a very tiny bit, lighter.
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘I think it is.’