Chapter 8
Jealous of Bags
The Dodgers were playing the Mets at Citi Field on Sunday, which meant that the game started early, Pacific Time.
Andy arrived twenty minutes before the first pitch was scheduled, like usual, and Rosie greeted him with additional enthusiasm, i.e.
, higher-than-usual jumps straight up into the air, wiping out a little each time she landed.
Her reaction was partially because she loved Andy so much and partially because he’d brought a tray of barbequed chicken.
“I was going to ask you how your weekend’s been,” I said, taking the tray from him and carrying it to the oven so we could keep it on low heat. “But I guess this is my answer.”
“Nah, I shot some hoops yesterday morning,” he said, which was usually his answer when I inquired about his personal life.
I had no room to talk; I had one close friend, a brother, a dog, and a professional team.
Still, Andy wasn’t famous! He was handsome and feminist and owned his own business and was kind to dogs, supposedly all the things Aisha said were impossible to find in men these days.
There was no reason he shouldn’t have a large group of friends and a devastatingly beautiful wife.
I worried more than sometimes that my life had doomed him to similarly lonely circumstances.
“How do you feel about our chances today?” I asked, tossing him a beer from the fridge and getting a LaCroix for myself.
“I’m not going to jinx anything,” he said, as we walked to the living room where the pregame coverage was already rolling. “Could be a good game. Could make the playoffs feel like more of a sure bet. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
Baseball had been a big deal in our house growing up.
Living about halfway between St. Louis and Chicago meant that local alliances were torn.
Once Andy and I moved to LA, we decided to compromise and choose the Dodgers as our new team.
We went in hard. His phone’s lockscreen was still a photo he’d taken from the field at Dodger Stadium the day that, thanks to a Vindicators 2 publicity blitz, I’d gotten to throw out the first pitch.
Andy and I might have had an unshakeable bond, but we never talked about that. The Gardners were not much about feelings, so it was good that we had baseball. (And it was very good that I hadn’t messed up that first pitch, or I’d still be hearing about it today.)
“Aisha coming over?” Andy asked as I sat down on the other end of the sofa.
“Probably not,” I said. “You know how she feels about sports.”
“OK, sure,” Andy said. “How’s the play?”
“Good, maybe?” I took a sip of my seltzer and patted my lap for Rosie to join me. “We’re working through it already, like on our feet, acting out the whole thing. It feels so good. I kind of forgot how magical this part is.”
Andy didn’t look away from the sportscasters’ chatter. “So you’re … OK?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m OK.”
“Good,” he said quickly. “That director’s …”
“What?” I asked, wondering what words he was afraid to fill in. The truth was I was afraid to fill them in too.
“I dunno,” he said. “She’s being nice to you and all?”
“Very nice,” I said, though I didn’t know a way to tell him about the herbal tea. “She doesn’t care, I guess. It’s been a long time.”
“I guess that’s good,” Andy said. “I googled her.”
Join the club. “Yeah?”
“She’s tall,” he said with a shrug, like he didn’t know what else to say about the acclaimed lesbian director his sister used to sleep with.
“Five-ten,” I said, and immediately wished I hadn’t.
“Do you think it’s weird,” he began, and I sat up very straight, “that both of you ended up so successful?”
“Oh,” I said, considering it. “I’m not surprised she’s successful.
She was really talented, and she’s ambitious, even if we’re not supposed to say things like that about women.
And she’s also very—tall. But of course I’m aware that many people are talented and ambitious and tall, and they’re not swooping in to save important productions.
And, sure, a lot of people want what I have and … ”
“Yeah,” he said. “See? It’s weird.”
I tossed a tennis ball across the room for Rosie. She sprang after it but got distracted about three-quarters of the way there. “Andy, it doesn’t have to be a thing. I shouldn’t have said anything the other night—”
“No,” he said, turning to glance at me. “What have I always said?”
“Dogs don’t have uncles,” I mimicked.
“No, shut the fuck up,” he said, while I cracked up. “I’ve got your back.”
“I know,” I said softly.
Andy stood up. “I’m gonna bring in snacks before the game starts. Seems too early for chicken. You want popcorn?”
“Yes, please. Rosie, go help your uncle.”
Rosie hopped up and rushed to Andy’s side. He shot me a look before heading out of the room. “You’re not funny.”
I was early the next morning for rehearsal, and Rebecca walked in at the same time I made my way through the lobby. I slowed down for her as if this was normal and not the most confusing relationship of my life—not that I could call it a relationship, good lord.
“Hey,” Rebecca said. She was in a T-shirt over plaid pants, high-top sneakers and tortoiseshell glasses accessorizing the whole thing on top of her ever-present minimal-but-obviously-luxury gold jewelry and an iced espresso dripping with condensation.
I thought about Andy calling her tall like he didn’t know how else to compliment a woman I found attractive—I’d found attractive—and grinned to myself.
“What?” Rebecca asked, so perhaps the grin hadn’t been received by me only.
“Nothing,” I said in my breeziest tone. “I see you figured out your coffee situation.”
I’d managed not to say a word about the herbal tea, but this was just making and following up on conversation, wasn’t it? Normal stuff!
“I did, thank god. No offense to your no-caffeine lifestyle intended, but theatre doesn’t run without a healthy dose of espresso. And when I say theatre, I mean me.” She pointed to herself in a manner I did my best not to find adorable.
“Did you walk here?” I asked. “I noticed you always come in through the lobby.” Oh, god, what was I, her stalker?
Rebecca laughed, though, clearly not disturbed by my monitoring of her arrival location. “Which means I miss out on all the parking gossip.”
She paused at the elevator but didn’t press the button. “Yeah, I’m only about a mile away in the Arts District. It’s a story that’s both long and dull, so I’ll spare you the details.”
“I never mind details,” I said, though she might have simply been being too polite to tell me to mind my own business.
“Geoffrey Gordan didn’t need accommodations since he has a place here,” Rebecca said.
“A fact I’m sure he used to negotiate an even higher salary.
Most of DTA’s housing had already been assigned to the out-of-town cast and crew, and so I could get paid as much as possible, my agent negotiated the same situation for me.
Let’s be honest, the same situation at probably a fraction of the cost.”
“Yeah,” I said, hating that we didn’t have to check to know it was true. Whenever I felt guilty for how much I’d gotten paid for Vindicators 1–3, I considered what I knew about my male co-stars’ salaries and felt a little cheated instead.
“The only wrinkle in the plan is that I’m staying with my ex-wife,” Rebecca said with an embarrassed sort of laugh, as a jolt rocked through me. “Of course I solved my housing problem in the most lesbian way possible.”
“Oh,” I said, looking around and hoping that no one else was as overly punctual as Rebecca and me. “I didn’t realize you were married.”
“It was a long time ago,” Rebecca said, using the same tone she’d dismissed our relationship with. “I was very young and stupid.”
“You were never stupid,” I said, holding her eye contact and then regretting what felt like a plea for—for something. Rebecca Frisch didn’t owe me anything.
“Gardner, I asked you to move in with me after six weeks,” she said, finally pressing the up button for the elevator. “You think I wasn’t ready to make an impetuous marriage decision with someone else?”
Maybe it should have been a gift, to find out that the terrible way you’d treated someone, your own villain origin story, had been but one in a series of small anecdotes for the other person, nothing more. I didn’t feel particularly fortunate, though.
The elevator doors slid open, and I followed Rebecca on.
“You don’t have to say anything in response,” she began, tucking her hair behind an ear, and I wondered how much worse this conversation could get. “But I do hope the cast is feeling better in general. What a fucking mess.”
“Yeah,” I said, recalibrating myself from the previous topic and trying to pretend it was as easy a change in subject for me as it was Rebecca. “It’s embarrassing. Just when I think I’m as clear-eyed as a person can be about the industry …”
“Gardner,” she said, her voice low and warm and familiar, “I hear you.”
“I already know all the reasons I’m probably here,” I said, watching the number display climb higher as we neared the rehearsal hall floor. “None of which have anything to do with my talent. And then to find out this and wonder—”
“No,” Rebecca said sharply, as the elevator doors parted. “Don’t let him take this from you. You’re here, you’re doing the work, and he’s not.”
She stepped out, but I stood there, stunned at Rebecca’s defense of me, Rebecca’s tone, Rebecca’s way of moving so smoothly through everything now.
The elevator doors slowly closed, but I couldn’t shake myself out of the moment and the way her words made me feel like I was allowed to set aside all of my fears.
“Gardner?” Rebecca reached in so the doors popped back open. Her hand grasped me, fingers circling my wrist, and she pulled. “You OK?”
I all but flew out next to her, my tote smacking against her hip in the process. For the first time I found myself jealous of a bag. I was truly losing my mind.