Chapter Twenty-Three #2
‘Oh right.’ Art folds his arms and leans back against the tree. ‘I suppose we should head back to the office.’
‘Well, we’ve got a lot of work to do.’ But neither of us moves. I look over at the Northside lot. They’re shooting the studio scenes today, so the lot is more or less empty. I nod in the direction of the hospital.
‘If all goes well, we’ll be in there with Honoria on Friday,’ I say.
‘She’d better behave herself,’ says Art.
‘Of course she will!’ I say. ‘Honoria Quigley’s a total pro.’
‘Yeah, well, people can surprise you,’ says Art. ‘Pros don’t always behave professionally on set.’
‘Come on, Art, that’s not fair.’ I don’t like him suggesting Honoria might be a diva, especially when the crew made it clear she was a delight. ‘Just because Sco—’ I realise what I’m saying and abruptly shut up.
‘Just because what?’ says Art.
‘Nothing,’ I say. ‘Forget I said anything.’
‘No, go on,’ he says. ‘What were you going to say? Sco-what?’
Fuck, he must know I know. ‘Scott Stagg.’
Art’s face is unreadable. ‘What about him?’
Oh God, I can’t stop now. ‘I … I heard what happened with you and him in LA,’ I say, ‘from a mutual acquaintance. They assumed I already knew,’ I add quickly. ‘I wasn’t, like, fishing for info about you or anything.’
‘Oh right.’ Art’s gaze is fixed on the Northside set.
‘It’s all true, isn’t it?’ I say, when it’s clear Art’s not going to elaborate. ‘About him … breaking your nose? And getting you fired? And … and blacklisted?’
Art lets out a long breath and finally says, ‘Yep. All true.’
‘Oh shit, Art,’ I say. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Thanks.’ Art doesn’t look at me. ‘Ah well. It is what it is.’
Neither of us says anything for a moment and then I ask the question I’ve been wondering about ever since Sinéad told me. ‘Do you … do you regret it? Standing up to him like that?’
‘Well,’ says Art, ‘when I did it I didn’t know I was destroying my career.’
‘And would you have done it if you had known?’
There’s a long pause and then Art says, ‘The fact that I had to think about this shows what a terrible person I am.’
‘So,’ I say, ‘what’s the answer?’
‘Yeah, I suppose I would have,’ says Art. ‘I mean, I know I couldn’t live with myself knowing I let him torment that intern to save my own skin.’
‘I’m fairly sure that means you’re not a terrible person,’ I say.
‘It might mean I’m an idiot.’ He gives me a wry smile. ‘I’m pretty sure that’s how my ex saw it.’
‘Did she work in the business too?’ I feel a pang of jealousy I know is ridiculous, jealousy of some glamorous American ex I’ve never seen.
‘No,’ says Art. ‘She was a vet.’
I’m so surprised I laugh. ‘Really?’
‘Yes, really! What’s so funny about that?’
‘I dunno,’ I say. ‘I presumed you went out with actresses and models in LA.’ I look at him. ‘Did she have a cute Instagram account full of baby animals?’
‘No, actually,’ he says. ‘She worked with cows. And, um, sheep.’
‘Lots of cows and sheep in LA, are there?’ I say.
‘Fine, fine, her account was called Sonia the Puppy Vet,’ says Art. ‘But she was cool. And smart. She got me to go to therapy after my career went up in smoke.’
‘So what happened?’ I ask, though I’m not sure I want to know. I don’t want to hear he’s still in love with her.
Art shrugs. ‘The fact that she ultimately thought I should have kept my head down with Scott Stagg, I suppose. I think we both disappointed each other.’
‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Did the therapy help?’
‘It did, actually,’ says Art. ‘I should probably have seen a professional years earlier. It wasn’t like this was my first career setback.’ He leans back against the tree again and clasps his hands behind his head. ‘Things in America didn’t work out exactly how I’d hoped they would.’
I remember his IMDb page, the journey from acclaimed indie films and Emmy-winning TV to cheesy medical dramas. I think how fantastic the Grand Music script was, how annoyingly talented he clearly is.
‘Did something like the Scott Stagg thing happen before?’ I say.
Art raises his eyebrows. ‘Do you think I have a habit of getting into fights with angry megastars twice my size?’
‘No! I just meant … did you get on someone’s bad side before? Is that why things didn’t work out the way you hoped?’
Art plucks a tuft of grass. ‘No,’ he says.
‘I didn’t make any enemies. I didn’t do anything disastrous.
I just … didn’t make it big.’ He lets the grass scatter in the light breeze.
‘After Grand Music I got the Slow News Day job and I thought I was sorted. I thought I’d work there for a while, maybe get an executive producer credit, and then write another film.
But it turned out I was a small fish in a big pond in that room.
Everyone else there was brilliant. More brilliant than me.
That’s why my colleagues won Emmys and I didn’t. And then the show ended.’
‘What happened after that?’ I say.
‘I wrote a pilot that didn’t get made. I wrote a film script everyone loved but said would be too expensive.
I spent a lot of time working on stuff that almost happened but didn’t.
I wrote a film that actually got made and then tanked.
I got my hopes up a million times about things that looked like my big break until eventually I made myself stop hoping.
It’s the hope that kills you, McDermott.
’ He gives me a wry smile. ‘Anyway, I had to take whatever writing jobs I could get. It could have been a lot worse. I can’t complain.
Erin – that’s my agent – was great, until she was told to dump me.
I had a well-paid writing career over there, until I didn’t.
I was doing fine, even if I didn’t always feel that way.
It just wasn’t what I’d dreamed of, that’s all.
’ He looks at me and shrugs. ‘There was no conspiracy. There was no big adversary fucking me over – well, until Scott Stagg. The big career break just … didn’t happen for me. ’
‘But …’ The me of three weeks ago would be astounded to hear me say, honestly, ‘You’re a good writer!’
He put the work in. He put himself out there. Isn’t that meant to be rewarded? Especially if you’re actually talented? Look at my sister. She got there in the end.
‘I know I’m a good writer,’ says Art, with a hint of that old shamelessness. ‘But there are better writers than me who never got near the jobs I got. Talent isn’t enough. And if I’ve learned anything over the last few years, it’s that you can’t always get what you want.’
He sounds a bit sad, but to my surprise there’s no real bitterness in his voice. Or even grim resignation. There’s just … acceptance.
‘Wow,’ I say. ‘Your therapist must have been really great.’
Art laughs. ‘Yeah, she was pretty good.’
‘I suppose you need all her wisdom now,’ I say, ‘stuck in this total mess.’
‘Ah, you know,’ says Art. ‘This mess isn’t all bad. Anyway. We’d better get back to it.’
So we do. We get an email from Susan thanking us for the rewritten Ritchie scenes, which is a relief because at least it means we’re finished these episodes as far as she’s concerned.
The top-secret scenes are coming together now, building up to the emotional pay-off where Ma Cusack tells Paddy how proud she is of her son, how much she loves him.
And I discover I can work through the dull ache in my chest, the queasy tightness in my stomach.
Even though they never go away. When Art turns to me after I come up with a great line for Ma Cusack’s last monologue and says, ‘You’re really fucking good at this, McDermott,’ I make myself smile back at him and say, ‘I suppose you’re not totally terrible yourself,’ but it’s exhausting. It’s all so exhausting.
I wish I could be angry with Art – it would be so much easier if I could tell myself he fucked me around – but I can’t. I’m the one who changed the rules of the game without telling him. And now I feel like I’ve been dumped by someone who doesn’t even know he’s done it.
But I haven’t been dumped. I haven’t been humiliated. As far as Art’s concerned nothing has changed. I can live with this. It’ll be fine.
So I keep going. I keep writing. I don’t have much in common with Taylor Swift but it turns out that, like her, I can do it with a broken heart.
Or at least a badly bruised heart. It can’t have been broken, right?
Not by Art Sullivan. It’s not like I’m actually in love with him or anything.
I just have … feelings for him. I can work through them.
After a long, sweaty bus journey home, I almost cry with relief when I let myself into the house.
At least I don’t have to put on an act anymore.
Roo was only getting up this morning when I was running out the door so I haven’t had a chance to talk to her about any of this yet.
I find her lying on a sunlounger in our tiny back garden, reading a romance novel.
She pulls down her sunglasses, takes one look at me and says, ‘Jesus, what’s wrong? ’
I tell her everything.
‘I feel so stupid for feeling sad,’ I say. ‘Like I’ve let myself down or something.’
‘You haven’t,’ says Roo. ‘And I know he’s not a bad person, but maybe he’s not worthy of you.’
I sigh. ‘No, I think he is.’ I tell her about yesterday’s encounter with Lizzie.
‘Shit,’ says Roo. ‘I think I might be into him now.’
‘I’m pretty sure Lizzie was really into him back in the day,’ I say.
‘Oh God, I hope she was,’ says Roo.
‘I think she might still fancy him,’ I say.
A grin starts creeping across Roo’s face and despite my miserable mood I find myself grinning back.
‘I would pay actual money,’ says Roo, ‘to have seen her face when Art walked off with you.’
‘It was pretty good,’ I admit. ‘It was so weird seeing her again. Seeing how … small she is to me now.’
‘I always thought she was small,’ says Roo.
‘Yeah.’ I smile at her fondly. ‘You always did.’
Later, Roo says, ‘Do you want me to pull a card for you? You could do with a fresh perspective on the you-and-Art situation.’
‘Oh, go on then,’ I say. ‘Can’t hurt.’
Roo shuffles her deck and draws a card. It shows two people exchanging goblets on a beach, while a winged lion head floats above their heads for some reason.
‘So, as I hope you remember,’ says Roo, ‘the Two of Cups is all about close connections.’
‘Huh,’ I say. ‘Me and Art’s close connection isn’t working so well right now.’
‘The card doesn’t necessarily mean a romantic connection,’ says Roo. ‘And I guess it’s a reminder that you and Art have a proper friendship now. I mean, it sounds like you’ve both really opened up to each other recently.’
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘We have.’
‘Well,’ says Roo, ‘maybe this card is telling you it hasn’t been a waste. You and Art really do have a bond, and it’ll transcend any current awkwardness.’
Maybe she’s right. Maybe this is just some weird phase in our relationship that I’ll look back and laugh at in a few years.
That has to be possible, right? It’s not like I fell for him the moment we met.
I didn’t even like him a few weeks ago. And now we really are friends.
I think about how right Art was when he said we make a good team.
How close we’ve got over the last few weeks.
But the next day I go to work and find out we’re clearly not as close as I thought.