Tonic

by Staci Hart

  Laney had been right all along. I knew she was from the beginning, but I thought I was smarter. That I knew better. That I could sidestep the destruction. But we’d been doomed from the start. I wanted to blame Laney for pushing me. I wanted to blame Joel for pursuing me. But in the end, it was my own choices that had brought me to where I was.

  I had no one to blame but myself.

  And that was where I stayed for a long time, my back against the door, tears slipping down my cheeks, trying to press the pieces of my heart back together. The tears eventually slowed, then stopped. My heart burned down and hardened, frost climbing over the surface of it. And then, my thirty minutes of mourning were up, punctuated by a knock on the door.

  I swiped at my cheeks and stood, smoothing my clothes and my face, opening the door to find Penny waiting in the hallway, arms folded, looking absolutely furious — her cheeks were nearly the same shade of pink as her hair was.

  She brushed past me and stormed across the room, taking a seat in the interview chair. A cameraman, sound guy, and PA followed her in, quietly, though their judgment may as well have been screaming at me. I sat across from her as the cameraman took his place next to me, and the sound engineer mic’d her.

  Penny sat in the seat at an angle, scowling, defiant. “What, you don’t have fifty million questions planned for this?” she asked, nodding to my empty hands.

  “No, I don’t,” I answered simply, coldly, looking to the cameraman to make sure he was ready. He nodded. I nodded back and turned to her. “Tell me about what happened downstairs.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You made a fucking spectacle of the most honorable guy in the world. On camera.”

  I swallowed hard and did my job, the job I’d coveted so much that I sold Joel out for it. “Why do you say he’s the most honorable guy in the world?”

  Penny’s lips were flat. “Because he’d do anything for anyone. He’s honest and good. He takes care of us. He loves us, and what he loves, he loves fiercely. With everything he is. But you don’t really give a fuck about him or me or any of us, do you? We’re all just a bunch of fucking toys for you and your fucking boss to throw around and make a joke out of. Does that answer your question?”

  “I get that you’re angry—”

  She barked a joyless laugh. “Bitch, you have no idea how angry I am. He was right. This whole fucking thing is a joke, a horrible mistake. We should have listened to him from the beginning.” She stood and tugged off her microphone, tossing it into her chair. “Fuck this shit. I’m not doing this right now,” she said as she blew past.

  “Penny, you’re under contract.”

  She whirled around, jaw set. “Fuck your contract, you lying skank. Call my lawyer about it, would you?” Then she flipped me off and stormed out of the room.

  My hands shook, and I threaded my fingers in my lap, squeezing to keep them still, turning to the PA. “Go get me whoever’s next.”

  The next hour was one of the longest of my life. One by one, the cast came in to see me, each of them offering me nothing but their hurt and anger. There was no footage, no headway, just an audience with me, a place with a closed door where they didn’t want to be, spitting insults at me like nails.

  I couldn’t even be mad. I deserved every one.

  It became painfully clear that we were getting nowhere, and I sent everyone away, finally exiting the room to face the bigger issue. The biggest issue.

  Laney sat at her desk, typing away at her computer, eyes darting to me coolly before finishing whatever she was working on. I closed the door and sat down across from her like the seat was on fire, back straight and eyes on her.

  She closed her laptop and leaned back in her seat.

  “They won’t work with me.”

  She didn’t speak. Her face said she’d told me so.

  “This is your fault.”

  She had the nerve to laugh. “My fault? Annika, be serious.”

  “If you’d let me tell him—”

  “I’m not the one who sent you up there to sleep with him last night after you knew.”

  Knife in my heart. “Why did you even tell me yesterday? Why not wait until today?”

  “Because it shouldn’t matter when I tell you anything. Because my job isn’t to protect your feelings. It’s to get you to do your job. I’m not the one who got my wires crossed here.”

  She was right, and I didn’t care, nor would I admit it to her. “So, what do we do?”

  Laney gave me a look that was full of disappointment, resentment, sadness. “There’s really not much more you can do. You should probably take the rest of the day. Take your laptop and work from home on the things you don’t need to be here for. Or don’t. Either way, I’ve got to take over.”

  “Until when?”

  “Until maybe forever. I don’t know.”

  Ice cold. My hands, my toes, my heart, my breath as adrenaline surged for the hundredth time that day.

  We sat in silence for a moment before she sat straight, opening her laptop again, the beginning of my dismissal.

  “Let’s just get through today. Tomorrow, we’ll see where we’re at. For now, you should go.”

  I couldn’t even speak, just nodded once and packed up my things after texting my driver. And then I stood and walked out, through the control room, down the stairs, to the sidewalk with everyone’s eyes on me and mine trained ahead. The car pulled up just as I approached the curb, and I slipped into its cool, dark confines like a stone through black water.

  Not a single tear fell as we drove out of Manhattan, across the bridge, into Brooklyn. I don’t know that I moved, other than the even rise and fall of my chest as I breathed through the gaping hole in my ribs. When the car pulled to a stop in front of my house, I climbed out, walked up the stairs, slid my key in the door, and found myself standing in my entryway, feeling lost and utterly alone.

  “Annika?” Roxy called from the living room, and I carried myself toward the sound of her voice, surprised and grateful to find her sitting on the couch. “What are you doing home?” she asked, her voice full of concern as she took me in.

  “I …” My voice was thick, foreign. I couldn’t even speak.

  She set down her sketchbook and stood, brow low, clasping my shoulders with her palms when she reached me, looking me over. “What happened?”

  I took a shuddering breath. “He’ll never forgive me.”

  Her face softened, and she pulled me into her arms, sinking down to the couch with me. And my tears fell, the ice shattering as the heat of my emotion burned through me. I mourned every decision, every word, every touch that I stole from him. I didn’t even care about my job in that moment. I’d lost the only real man I’d ever known, the only one I’d ever had for myself. The only one who’d wanted me like he did. I’d lost it all, and lost myself.

  It was a long time that I sat with Roxy, first in her arms, then with my head on a pillow in her lap as she stroked my hair. She offered whispers of comfort and soft shushing like she gave to her baby, until my sadness had all burned away, leaving me empty, hollow. A shell.

  When I had finally calmed, I sat, sinking back into the couch, wishing it would swallow me up so I could disappear. Roxy handed me another tissue and hauled herself off the couch, clanged around in the kitchen for a moment, and came back with two small glasses of vodka and a bottle of Stoli.

  “Peyhdodnah,” she said. Bottoms up. And we did just that, tipping our glasses to pour the liquor down our throats.

  The burn felt good as it snaked through my body, and I reached for the bottle to pour myself another. Roxy extended her glass.

  “What are you doing home?” I asked, not sure I could talk about myself yet. Kaz hopped up onto the couch, tail flicking as he looked up at me.

  Roxy pulled her feet back, eyeing him. “Kira’s sick — I picked her up from Max and Dina’s shop earlier. The last thing we need is them getting sick too.”

  “True. I’m glad you were able to take off.” I ran my
hand down Kaz’s back, and he stepped gingerly into my lap.

  “Yeah, well, everything’s on hold until I get this mess figured out anyway.” She flicked her hand at her sketchbook.

  I nodded, not having anything else to add. So I took a drink.

  “What happened?” she asked tentatively.

  I looked into my glass like I could find answers there. “I had to lie to him, keep something from him, and then tell him the truth on camera.”

  “Oh, Anni.” There was no disappointment in her words, only empathy, and a pained smile touched the very corners of my lips.

  “He didn’t take it well.” I drained my drink and reached for the bottle again.

  “No, I imagine he didn’t.”

  “And the entire crew is on revolt. Laney sent me home because none of them will work with me.”

  She drew in a breath.

  “Yeah.”

  “So what happens now?”

  I drained my glass and reached for the bottle, pouring until it was near the top. “Now, I drink until it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

  She raised her glass, and we did just that.

  ENOUGH

  Joel

  MY ALARM WENT OFF, A blaring assault ringing in my aching head. The sound was foreign to me — I couldn’t remember the last time I hadn’t woken before it.

  I reached for my phone, tapping at the screen until it stopped without opening my eyes, and I was wrapped in blissful silence again. A sigh left me, and I rested a hand on my chest, my brain creaking into motion.

  I felt like week-old garbage.

  My entire body ached, including my head, and I worked my way backward through my memory, trying to figure out how I’d gotten where I was.

  I remembered being at Wasted Words with Patrick, the bar his girlfriend owned, which meant lots of free drinks. That explained the headache. I remembered him coming over before that and dragging me to the gym, where I ran until my legs were glue.

  Because of Annika.

  Pain bloomed in my chest at the thought of her name alone, deepening when I replayed what she’d said, what she’d done. What I’d said and done.

  Shep had sent Patrick to babysit me, and as angry as I was, as much as I’d wanted to wallow or break something or both, I’d been thankful for him forcing me out of the apartment, into the city, to the gym where I ran a dozen miles. I just wanted to burn away all of her with every drop of sweat, every aching muscle. I couldn’t stop until I’d expended every ounce of energy I had and all the adrenaline in my body had burned out. And when it was all said and done, I could barely walk on my numb legs to the locker room, which explained my aching body.

  We didn’t go back to my place. I’d showered at the gym, and then we went to the bar, never speaking once about anything that had happened. He knew what I needed and helped me get there, with the assistance of a handle of whiskey.

  I’d blacked out, and hoped I didn’t get into a fight or have a breakdown in the time my memory failed me. I checked my knuckles — they were only scuffed up from hitting Shep, and I felt a little comfort at that. When I looked over at my nightstand for water, I found some right next to a bottle of ibuprofen and took both, grateful for whoever’d had the foresight to leave it for me.

  I sat up in bed and pressed the heel of my hand to my eye socket to stop the throbbing before glancing around my room. Someone — must have been Shep — had put it back together, cleaned up the lamp, even put fresh sheets on my bed. I doubted that the rest of the mess I’d made would be so easily set to rights.

  Yesterday, I’d hidden from my problems the way I knew how. Today I’d deal with it, whether I wanted to or not.

  I had no idea what to expect. Not even a single clue as to what I’d be walking into, leaving me nothing to prepare for.

  I swung my legs over the side of the bed, testing out my body. Seemed that the effects of the whiskey were limited to my thumping head, and I counted my blessings before climbing out of bed and pulling on clothes.

  I found Shep in the kitchen, sitting at the table with a cup of coffee. He’d cleaned all that mess up too, packing the ledgers in a box that he’d pushed next to the couch. I tried to pretend they weren’t there, moving to pour coffee in silence as my brother watched me, sitting with my back to them.

  I rested my forearms on the table with my mug between my hands and met Shep’s eyes.

  “So,” I said.

  “So.”

  I swallowed. “I’d say this was all your fault, but I feel like you already figure I feel that way.”

  “Do you? Feel that way?”

  I breathed through a couple heartbeats. “I wish it were that easy, that I could pin the blame on somebody else. But I can’t really, can I?” I didn’t wait for an answer. “Bring me up to speed.”

  He watched me for a moment, seeming to collect his thoughts before starting. “The show’s a mess. Production is pretty much on hold, or at least it was yesterday, since the entire crew is on strike.”

  My brow was low. “The production crew?”

  “I mean, they’re still doing their jobs, but they don’t look real happy with how things went down. But I meant our crew.” He shook his head. “Annika tried to run interviews after you left and … well, let’s just say it didn’t go well.”

  The pain was back, pressing against my ribs. “Good.”

  His eyes narrowed a millimeter, but he didn’t acknowledge my response. “So, I don’t know what’s going to happen today. I didn’t see Annika again, and no one seems to really know what’s going on.”

  “What about Laney? Didn’t anyone talk to her?”

  “I did for a second. I spent all day yesterday trying to calm everybody down. Penny was ready to fight, so it’s good Annika disappeared. I sent Tricky with you because I thought he might be ready to fight too. Everyone else is just … well, they’re pissed. They feel betrayed. They’re angry.”

  My eyes were on the steam rising from the bottomless black coffee.

  “Anyway, Laney basically said to let everyone breathe and that we’d pick it up again today, but I don’t know what that means. No one wants to film right now, and there’s talk of quitting, lawsuits … all kinds of noise. I was really hoping she’d call it off for today, but I haven’t gotten word yet.”

  I still didn’t speak.

  Shep scratched at his nose, waiting for me to offer him something, anything, but I had nothing to give.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No.” The word was final.

  “All right, man. You know where to find me if you do.”

  I ventured to take a sip of my coffee, the sting of it against my lips and down my throat somehow a comfort. I was surprised I could feel anything at all.

  “What do you want to do?”

  I sighed through my nose and sat back in my chair. “Not much we can do except keep going. Right?”

  He nodded, though he didn’t look happy. “Far as I know.”

  “Then that’s what we’ll do.” I took another sip. “Thanks for dealing with everything yesterday while I was … out.”

  He shrugged a shoulder. “You’re not the only one who’s capable of dealing with the shop, Joel. I know sometimes you feel like you are, but you put that on yourself. It was nothing. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

  “I’m so far away from okay, I’m not even on the same continent.”

  His jaw flexed, his eyes full of concern. “Fair enough. But you don’t have to go in there yet, if you don’t want to. I can figure out what’s going on and let you know. You can take time. You’ve earned that.”

  I took another sip, considering all I’d earned. “No. I’m done. Face the music and all that shit. Right?”

  “If you want to. It’s your call.”

  “I don’t want any of this, but it’s mine to deal with all the same.”

  “It’s not just yours, man,” he said, frustrated, and I fumed.

  “Fuck you, Shep. It’s my mess, my proble
m. She’s my problem. She and I put us in this boat, so I’m the only one who can handle it. I appreciate the offer to help, but you can’t fix this.”

  He sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “I don’t think you can fix it either, but I guess we’ll see.”

  I stood and picked up my mug, walking toward the bathroom. “Guess so,” was all I offered.

  Every motion was automatic — close the door, turn on the shower, set down the coffee, take off the clothes, step into the stream, scrub the bullshit off. But there was no getting rid of it. The grime stuck to my soul, staining it.

  Dry and dress. Walk down the stairs with my boots full of bricks. Push the door of my shop open. Brace self for the shitstorm.

  My crew was all there, bright and early, faces full of anger, and all of them stood and rushed me, everyone talking at once.

  “Are you okay?” Veronica.

  “Fuck that fucking bitch.” Penny.

  “Tell me we don’t still have to do this, Joel.” Ramona.

  Eli and Max huffed and puffed and rattled off insults, and Patrick just stood behind them, arms folded, watching me with the weight his eyes always had. They all kept talking, talking, talking, getting louder as my pulse thumped in my ears, ringing in my head like a bell.

  My eyes slammed shut. “Enough!”

  Silence.

  I opened my eyes to find them all still, brows drawn, incensed. My voice was low when I spoke. “I told you, all of you that this was a mistake, but you wanted it. You wanted this. You signed up for it, every one of you, and so did I.”

  Penny’s face was on fire. “You can’t fucking expect us to work with her, Joel. I won’t do it. If she threw you away, lied to you, then why would she give a fuck about any of the rest of us? This is bullshit, man.”

  “I know it’s bullshit, but what do you want me to do about it? We’ve all signed contracts.”

  Her jaw clenched, arms folded, but she didn’t have an answer. Neither did I.

  “Trust me, I’m the last person who wants to be here,” I said, scanning their faces. “But we’re in this, and we’re in it together.”