by Julie Wright
I put on my own mask to keep myself from ogling. “No wet suit for you? This isn’t the South Pacific, you know.”
“My body tends to run hot.”
“You can say that again,” I muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing.” I zipped up my wet suit jacket. “Let’s avoid the sharks.”
“Your chances of dying in a shark attack are one in three point seven million. I think we’re safe.”
“You say that, but how many of those three point seven million are going in the water? Is that a statistic of everyone or just of those who venture into the sharks’ neighborhood?”
His answer was to put in his snorkel and wade out into the waves before diving beneath them. I followed his lead.
We were lucky that the ocean had been calm for a while, no major storms or winds to stir the water to froth. This made the water clear enough to allow for an interesting swim. Starfish to admire and sea urchins to avoid. I even saw a sea lion, and I was glad he was far away and swimming in the other direction. Sea lions were notoriously not nice, and they made shark bait out of snorkelers. I didn’t want to be the unlucky one in Ben’s pseudo-reassuring statistic.
When we were done snorkeling and back lounging in our chairs, sand and salt drying on our skin in the fading sun, I peeked at him, glad he had his eyes closed and his face lifted to the light. Studying him while he wasn’t aware allowed me to consider all the things I thought about him and felt for him.
“Love.” The word slipped from the safety of my wandering thoughts to the out-loud danger of the real world.
Ben turned his face to me. “Hmm?” The sound came out lazy, a buzz above consciousness.
“Oh. Just wondering what your favorite line from a romantic comedy was.”
He squinted one eye open as he grinned. “Feeling romantic, Silvia?”
“Just curious.”
“My favorite line is from Love Actually when Sam says to his stepdad, ‘Worse than the total agony of being in love?’ And his stepdad responds, ‘Oh. No, you’re right. Yeah, total agony.’”
I laughed. “Love is total agony? That’s your favorite romantic quote?”
He didn’t laugh. “Love someone for over three years without being able to say anything about it, and you’ll agree with me.”
That was a naked truth I hadn’t been prepared for.
“I’m sorry,” I said, not knowing what else could be said.
“Don’t be. The agony of loving you is worth it every time.” He took my hand and rolled a slow kiss over my knuckles. Droplets of water shook down from his hair and onto his lips and the back of my hand.
I almost said the words back, told him I loved him, too, but I wanted to be sure that when I told someone I loved him that the words were real.
Attraction wasn’t enough. I loved to kiss him. Loved to look at him. Loved to talk to him and work alongside him. But did I love him? I didn’t know. For all the movies I’d seen in my life, for all the romantic comedies that made me smile and sigh at the end, I thought I’d be better prepared to understand myself when it came to love. Of course I would know what it felt like because all the women on the screen knew. None of them seemed to be wishy-washy about it. I didn’t want to be wishy-washy either. I didn’t want to be the dog, Dug, from the Pixar movie Up, who said, “I have just met you, and I love you.” Sure, Ben had been my friend for years. We hadn’t just met. But he didn’t deserve the trip and stumble of love that was the result of friendship and a few dates. He deserved the forever fall.
The peace of Thursday evening with Ben was enough to have me still smiling when I went into the studio on Friday morning.
The smile dropped when I saw Owen the lawyer and Candace from HR waiting for me at my office door.
Owen spoke first. “I left some things on your desk and wanted you to know that we, Candace and I, are available if you have questions.” They stepped aside to allow me to pass, and then they nodded to each other before leaving. I didn’t understand why they both had to come to deliver a message. They were like a human version of a sticky note. How long had they been standing there waiting for me?
In my office, I found a letter on my desk letting me know that all intellectual property regarding the film Sliver of Midnight belonged solely to Portal Pictures. The letter stated that the film Sliver of Midnight would be released on schedule as planned with no further additions to the film regarding payroll or credit acknowledgment. There was also an actual sticky note clinging to the side informing me that an identical letter had been sent to Mid-Scene Films.
A second memorandum was under the first. Only this one was far more personal in nature. It spelled out the details of my breach of contract as well as what Portal Pictures expected of me going forward. If I had ever believed that Mid-Scene Films had absurd control-your-life, nonnegotiable contracts, they were nothing compared to what Portal Pictures expected me to put my signature on at that moment.
They wanted me to sign an agreement that would sever any and all communications I had with Ben. They wanted Ben out of my life permanently.
“How she must have loved him, to give up everything.”
—Ariane as played by Audrey Hepburn in Love in the Afternoon
I swept up the memorandum and stomped down to the law offices of Owen Theodore Carlson, Esq.
“Absolutely not!” I said. “I will absolutely not sign this.”
Without breaking eye contact, Owen tapped a button on his laptop before he smiled at me. “It’s either sign the document or get fired. You know how this business works, Miss Bradshaw. If you are fired, chances of you finding a job in this town again are almost impossible. Not a very good way to work your way up, but a great way to work your way out.”
I lifted my chin and crossed my arms over my chest, setting my feet as though bracing myself for impact. “There is no way this is legal.”
“You’re more than welcome to take Portal Pictures to court to find out.” He leaned back in his chair, completely at ease. He knew my choices were small if I had any ambition in me at all.
The problem was, I had a lot of ambition. I didn’t want to be just a film editor. I wanted to be a great film editor. And I wasn’t stupid. I knew no one remembered the names of film editors no matter how popular or amazing the movie was. Few people knew who edited Star Wars or the Harry Potter films. Sure they knew the director and sometimes even the producer. They almost always knew the production studio. But the film editor was negligible, one of those silent partners in filmmaking.
So my ambition was not for the fame necessarily. It wasn’t even for any kind of glory. Sure, I wanted the awards—
I wanted them very much—and sure, I would love a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. But what I really wanted was the knowing. I wanted to know that I had created, or had a hand in creating, films that would stand the test of time. I needed to be in a bigger studio in order to make that happen. If I got blackballed now, there would be no chance later.
I narrowed my eye at him, glaring hard enough, I hoped, to make him feel like he was being shoved into the wall. “My edit on that film was flawless, and you know it. If Portal Pictures loses me, they lose a valuable asset.”
Owen steepled his fingers together—a miniature tower of apathy. “We don’t want to lose you. But we all decided that it would be better if you had a shorter leash. If you had a shred of ambition, you’d take this peace offering for the gift that it is.”
A leash. Dean had mentioned a leash as well. Was that how they all saw me? Like I was a dog? A creature to control? A thing meant to serve but to never be equal to them. My mother would have slapped the smirk right off Owen the lawyer’s face. She would have hit him over the head with her women’s rights protest sign.
I took a step back. His words shred of ambition kept replaying in my head. How many shreds of ambition did I have? Jus
t one? A dozen? Was I a warehouse full of ambitious shreds? Was I willing to give that up for my dignity? Did I want to make advertisements for pet apparel like Alison did?
I took another step back. With each step, I felt the loss of something. What did I want? What would this contract cost me to sign?
“I need to talk to my lawyer.”
“You don’t have a lawyer, Silvia.”
“I guess I’ll need to get one on my way home tonight.”
“Remember the confidentiality clause in the contract you signed when you were employed by Portal Pictures. Though that does not prevent you from seeking legal representation, it does prevent you from taking anything you’ve heard, seen, said, or done at this company to the press or anyone else. There’s also the matter of you already being in breach of contract with our company, which means we are within our rights to file suit against you. At this time, we don’t see the value of doing such a thing, but if pressed, well . . .”
He didn’t need to finish the statement for me to understand.
“I won’t sign this.” I lifted my chin and took a step forward, finally finding my dignity. I shoved the crumpled paper into my sweater pocket as if to prove to him I had no intentions of giving in to his bullying.
Candace came in at that moment. She was accompanied by Dean and a couple of the executives.
“You’re late,” Owen said.
Those who’d entered didn’t acknowledge his admonishment but instead sat in the chairs against the wall off to my right. They had, once again, split my vision, putting me at a disadvantage they had to know existed.
Owen nodded to the chair opposite his desk. Apparently we were going to be there a while. I didn’t sit. He shrugged and leaned back in his black leather executive chair. “You really should rethink your actions, Miss Bradshaw, since your guileless friend from Mid-Scene Films, the one you assured us did not expect any kind of compensation or recognition, is suing.” Owen sniffed and ran a hand under his nose. His eyes stayed on me.
“Excuse me?” I asked, sure I’d heard him wrong.
“Mid-Scene Films is suing.” He dropped a stack of papers on his desk in front of me.
“That’s not possible,” I insisted in spite of the stack that evidently stated otherwise or else he wouldn’t have been so smug.
“We were served a few hours ago. Only one day after we sent them notice of our stance regarding the matter. The demand for recognition and compensation for the intellectual property of Sliver of Midnight makes it pretty clear that this impossible thing you speak of is, in fact, possible.”
The word no thundered in my head while I picked up the stack and skimmed through the pages. Underneath all the legalese was the basic gist. They were suing. Ben was a pivotal part of the suit.
Did Ben know?
No.
Of course not.
Ben already assured me that he would not arm wrestle Portal Pictures for rights. He didn’t want anything to do with a lawsuit. This was all Mid-Scene ownership making a grab for gold that didn’t belong to them.
Owen pounced on my shock by sliding another paper under my nose. It was a duplicate of the one I’d crumpled and shoved into my pocket. The one that stated I would not collude, conspire, or fraternize with the competition until the lawsuit was settled and that I was never, ever to even consider bringing any known employee of any studio that was not Portal Pictures onto Portal Pictures properties. How many copies of this menacing document did Owen have? Would there be one on my car windshield when I left to go home?
I wanted to look at Candace, Dean, and the suits, to gauge their reactions, but Owen ruled this room, and I needed to keep my eye on him. I put down the stack of papers and settled the unsigned document on top of it. I slid the whole stack toward him and lifted a shoulder. “This has nothing to do with me.”
Owen rolled his eyes. “This has everything to do with you, Miss Bradshaw. You’re the one who let the fox into the henhouse. You have been educated in this matter. You are aware of our requests, and we expect you to honor them. Anything less will be considered collusion and will lead to termination. The work you’ve done for Portal Pictures will remain the property of Portal Pictures, and your name, as it stands, is below the line. Dean will get full credit and be handed the award you worked so hard for. Is that what you want?”
Owen put a pen on top of the paper. “We know you want this job. We know you love the art. You’re good at it. But we need to know we can count on you. We need to know that when Sliver of Midnight is called up for Best Film Editor and your name is listed, that when you, in your glittering gown of triumph, walk up to that podium to accept the award, it’s Portal Pictures you’re thanking for the opportunity. We need to know you’re loyal to us. And if you are, well then, there will likely be many awards, many acceptance speeches.”
“And if I don’t sign this?”
Noise pulled my attention to the people on my right. I turned my head to look. The suits shifted. Dean hung his head and stared at the carpet.
“Then we won’t be sure of anything, will we? And if we’re not sure about you, then you can be sure there won’t be awards. There won’t be speeches. You know how it is. We’re family here in Hollywood. If you hurt one of us, you hurt all of us. You won’t find work in this town ever again. It’s really quite simple.”
“Just sign the paper,” Candace urged.
Owen was right. I did love the work and the art; I wanted the awards. I picked up the pen. My balance swirled with the motion as oxygen seemed to be strangling itself in my chest and not making it to my brain.
Owen had also called the act of signing quite simple.
Simple?
I stared down the line of suits who all met my gaze evenly. I let my gaze settle on Dean. Dean, who had sold his soul to these people. What had that cost him? What would it cost me?
I thought of Ben, who smiled at me from the crowded dance floor and made me feel free, of the way he saw my trouble and jumped in, no questions asked, how he coaxed Dean into the car. I thought of the way he viewed art, how he felt the rhythm of timing and the rise and fall of each scene. How he laughed with my grandmother whenever they were together, how he’d asked her to dance at the ball, and how she seemed to sparkle when he brought her back to the table. How he pointed out a pair of torpedo rays while we were snorkeling to make sure I didn’t miss them.
This was the guy who initiated water fights with me at work, laughed at my jokes, fixed my car when it broke down in the parking lot at Mid-Scene. The guy who had whispered peace to my panicked heart in a crowded elevator that had been stuck between floors.
This was Ben.
And I knew. No more wishy-washiness. This was the fall. And I was willing to fall. No matter what it cost my career.
“I’m not signing anything.” I put the pen down.
Dean’s head shot up, surprise evident in his red-rimmed eyes. Candace let out a noise of exasperation. Owen sat in his chair and shook his head and tsked at me as if I were a small child caught doing something naughty. The suits didn’t move at all.
“It was nice working with you, Miss Bradshaw. You are hereby suspended from your duties.”
“You’re not firing me?”
“Not yet. We’ll wait and see what transpires with the lawsuit. Nathaniel will help you clean out your desk of any of your things that you might need during the interim.”
I stood. “I’ll need all of my things—because I quit.”
I glanced down the row of people brought in to intimidate me and caught a satisfied smile play across Dean Thomas’s lips.
I smiled, too, because it was time.
Time to tell Ben I loved him.
The convenient part of my decision was that Ben and I already had plans to see each other that night. The work we’d done for the Audrey Hepburn Society had been so inspiring that we’d dec
ided to keep going. Tonight’s job included the gritty warehouse work of loading boxes for a UNICEF shipment leaving for Bolivia in a few days.
The drive to the warehouse where I’d planned to meet Ben was the worst twenty-seven minutes of my life, as I contemplated all the implications of Mid-Scene Films suing Portal Pictures.
I saw Ben’s car already parked, and I slid into a space as near to his as possible. I got out and spotted him near the trucks, wearing his UNICEF shirt and nodding his head at something the volunteer coordinator was saying to him.
He didn’t know. He could not have known that his company was suing mine and still be so relaxed.
Which meant the unfortunate task of telling him fell to me.
I crossed the lot and wove around several other volunteers, one of whom handed me a UNICEF shirt.
Ben saw me but didn’t smile.
He didn’t smile.
Which meant he knew after all. My heart stuttered in my chest. How much? How much did he know?
I didn’t break eye contact, even though he tried to look toward where the truck waited. “Mid-Scene is suing Portal Pictures.” The words spilled out as soon as I was within earshot.
Well, that was one way to drop the news on him. Not that the information was wrong, but the delivery lacked any kind of delicacy.
Ben frowned. “I know.”
His knowing filled me with an irrational anger. I had so wanted him to be completely uninvolved. Stupid Dean had made me insecure with his whole “trust no one” speech. Though I didn’t like admitting it, a teensy tiny part of me worried that Ben had known, worried he’d been involved, worried about what it meant for us as a couple.
My worries didn’t like being confirmed.
I wanted to wrap my arms around him and use his strength to refill my own, but instead I stepped back as he fixed me with his serious, cool-blue eyes.
“Spill,” I said. “What exactly do you know?”
