Chapter Four #2
“Why stop there, though?” Evelyn smirked.
“I mean, we know the next part, too. We’ve all seen the movie or a cartoon version or the play, even if we haven’t read the book.
You tell me that three ghosts are going to come and visit me.
They’ll appear at the most inopportune times, causing career death and romantic trepidations .
. . all while imparting some great life lesson about my past and present and future.
Until finally, I’ll wake up on Christmas morning, snow falling outside my apartment window, shouting for Tiny Tim. ”
Marla raised one eyebrow, curiously. “Aren’t you Jewish?”
“So?”
“It’s a little on the beat.”
“You’ve been dead four years, and still . . . you’re the expert on making television.”
“At the very least, the ghosts should appear on Hanukkah. Switch things up. Give the retelling some modern flavor. I mean, how many times have we seen a retelling of A Christmas Carol? But a Jewish version of that same story! Now, that’s interesting.”
Evelyn forgot that she was talking to a specter of her own imagination.
Instead, it was like they were back in a production meeting.
Marla, taking the lead. Evelyn, always following .
. . trying to catch up . . . trying to prove she was worth an assignment, a production.
First one in, last one out. It was impossible getting noticed as a woman in television.
She had fought so hard for her career, her success.
She resented that anyone—including her subconscious—would suggest she was bad for wanting it.
She was certain that no one would ever say such things to a man.
A man who worked long hours, overtime, was commended.
He was seen as a strong role model and provider.
The quintessential alpha. Women, however, were looked down upon for making their own dreams a priority.
Of all the spirits to send that lingered in her subconscious, Marla seemed the most unlikely choice.
Her entire life—or, at least, the two years Evelyn had known her while they worked together—had been dedicated to her career.
Marla would have never told Evelyn to do anything but work harder.
Indeed, the woman died the way she lived—barking out orders to the production staff with a tablet in her hand.
It seemed her afterlife was going the same way.
“You worked harder than anyone I knew when you were alive,” Evelyn said. “You taught me everything I know. It’s because of you, the way you trained me—”
“And look where it got me,” Marla replied. “A funeral with four people attending. My belongings raided at an estate sale. An obituary full of falsehoods and lies in the New York Times. I mean, pickleball, Evelyn? I played once! And only because I was forced to on a corporate retreat.”
“Hey, now.” Evelyn cut her off right there. “Considering what I had to work with, that was an excellent obituary.”
It was the truth. Marla hadn’t had friends. She’d had colleagues. She hadn’t had hobbies. She’d had work. Still, Evelyn never got the sense that Marla had been unhappy. They both believed that making television, creating stories for people who loved them and needed them, was a worthwhile endeavor.
“What I taught you,” Marla said dramatically, “was wrong. I am here to save you, Evelyn. You are my penance for a lifetime of misdeeds.”
“That’s great.” Evelyn frowned. “But also, really unnecessary.”
“Oh, Evelyn,” Marla cried out. “Don’t you see? I have made a terrible mistake! Using work to avoid life, forgoing friends and family, destroying every relationship. But there is still time for you. Time for you to change your ways, time for you to put right what I have done wrong.”
A gust appeared and grew stronger. Papers began flying around her office.
Evelyn had to shield her eyes with her hands to prevent a corneal abrasion.
This was definitely not within the normal parameters of a typical migraine.
She would have assumed that there was a window open somewhere.
Except that, for the health and safety of all employees, none of the windows at CBS7-T studios opened.
Evelyn had always tried not to read too much into that . . .
But then the gusts grew worse. The winds whipped up into a frenzy around her, causing Evelyn to stumble back and land at her desk. Evelyn covered her eyes with both hands, seeking protection.
“Be forewarned,” Marla continued. “On this festival of lights, you will be visited by the eight heartbreaks of Hanukkah. They shall appear at their time and place of choosing—day or night, wanted or not, at times opportune and times terrible—but each will come bearing an important lesson on your life.”
Evelyn peeked out from behind her hands. “So, we’re establishing the rules of the world here?”
“Silence!” Marla shouted back, the wind growing in ferocity once more. “Specters are not bound by your earthly schedules!”
“Good to know,” Evelyn said, and returned to ducking for cover.
“Change your ways, Evelyn Schwartz!” Marla howled her final warning. “Change your ways, while you still have time . . . so you will not end up like me.”
“Evelyn,” Demi said, shaking her awake.
“Marla?” Evelyn choked out the word.
Sunlight streamed through the windows of her office.
Evelyn tried to make sense of what had just happened.
A single strand of drool ran from the corner of her mouth onto the keyboard.
Her neck was craned awkwardly and painfully in a ninety-degree position on her desk.
She must have fallen asleep. It was a dream.
Marla, everything that had happened in the interim, a product of her own imagination.
Quickly, she sat up. Wiped the spit off her face and straightened herself out.
“What time is it?” Evelyn asked, her mind already shifting to work.
“Nine o’clock.”
“Nine o’clock!” Evelyn was horrified. Swiftly, she rose from her seat. “Well, why on earth didn’t you wake me?”
“I didn’t know you were sleeping in your office.”
Evelyn’s chin dipped back. “That’s no excuse.”
Panic settled in her chest. Evelyn swiftly headed to the closet, opening the door. “Of course I’m sleeping in my office right now,” she grumbled. “You should have known better.”
It wasn’t unusual for Evelyn to work late.
Sometimes, it was far more practical for Evelyn to just sleep on the couch in her office rather than bother with the long commute home.
There was no point in going back to an empty and sad reminder of her failed marriage just to sleep in her own bed for two hours.
Still, she had never fallen asleep at her computer before, in the middle of an email. Or, slept so late . . .
For a fleeting instant, she wondered if David was right. If she was dealing with something more atypical than migraines. Just as quickly, she blew the whole idea off. It was stress, the normal swings that came with being in control of a major production schedule.
Nothing more.
Evelyn snatched a smart sweater-and-pants combo. She only had thirty minutes before she needed to be on set, and somehow, taking five of them to change her underwear and brush her teeth seemed irresponsible.
“What do you need me to do?” Demi asked.
“What time is it?” Evelyn glanced down at her watch. It was nine ten. She moved to a bin on the floor, searching for a different pair of socks. “Can you take ten minutes to run a rights bible to legal?”
Demi scanned the room for the binders.
“On my desk,” Evelyn explained.
Demi gathered them up. “Anything else?”
“The largest cup of coffee you can find,” she said. “Two of them.”
Demi smiled. “On it.”
With that, Demi, who had clearly slept more than two hours the previous night, departed from the room with a well-rested step. Thank God for Demi. Bringing her on through the mentorship program Evelyn had started was the best thing she had ever done.
Evelyn raced to the bathroom. Dipping into a stall, she threw off her clothing before heading to a sink, catching her reflection in the mirror. Granted, fluorescent lighting never did anybody favors, but she still had the indentation of a keyboard lining her cheeks.
Great.
She looked like a chessboard.
Evelyn shook the thought away and worked on brushing her hair. Yes, she looked horrible. She could have pulled out a comb and tamped down her frizz. Instead, she went through that never-ending to-do list in her head.
1.Rights bible to legal.
2.Confirm with agent on arrival time for Jared.
3.Make HR and casting agent aware of missing caroler.
Finally, she brushed her teeth and headed back to the office to grab her tablet. The phone rang. It was Jared’s agent. He was calling to confirm, once again, that all the requested items necessary for Jared’s pleasure and comfort would be available upon arrival.
“Yes, yes,” Evelyn said. “I’ve let both our supervising producer and catering department know. There’s nothing to be concerned about. We’re all very excited to have Jared here.”
The throbbing above her eye returned.
The agent continued rattling on about expectations. “Jared is very delicate. He needs care and sensitivity to do his best work . . .” Evelyn wasn’t paying attention. Instead, she began sifting through her pocketbook for meds.
Pulling out the bottle of Maxalt, she grew concerned. There were only five pills left.
She did the math in her head. She had seven more days until the live-action production of A Christmas Carol. If she needed two Maxalt a day to function through dress rehearsals . . . she would never have enough for the day they went live.
She had no choice. She needed to start rationing.
Closing her Maxalt container, she tossed it back into her pocketbook, then reached for the bottle of Excedrin Migraine sitting on her desk instead. She was pairing her pills with as much water as humanly possible when Demi reappeared in the threshold.
“Just in time.” Evelyn sighed, relieved. Taking the coffee from Demi, she began making her way toward the studio.
“You know you can always rely on me,” Demi quipped back happily.
“Indeed.”
Evelyn took one soothing sip, and then plastered a smile on her face.
Despite her pain, it was important for Evelyn not to show weakness, to be the best for the team, to model leadership.
As for the strange dream featuring her old mentor, Evelyn gave it no further thought.
It was simply a delusion, brought on by a migraine, and seeing her ex-husband, and work-related stress.
She would bury its memory beneath schedules and to-do lists .
. . like she had done with so many others.