Something to Talk About

by Meryl Wilsner

  Emma was harried, having been caught off guard by calls that morning.

  “I really don’t understand why we can’t just say this isn’t true,” she said.

  Jo sipped her coffee and remembered when Emma first started as her assistant, how afraid she had been of speaking out of turn.

  “What if I want to date someone, but they think I’m dating you?”

  Jo rolled her eyes. “If a man doesn’t believe you when you tell him the rumors aren’t true, he’s not worth your time.”

  “I didn’t say a man,” Emma snapped, and Jo blinked at her. Emma colored slightly. “I mean—maybe a man. But not necessarily.”

  Jo nodded once. “Regardless. Anyone interested in you should trust you. Besides,” she said, shifting away from the subject of Emma’s sexuality, “a comment is going to make this story bigger, not make it go away. Like I said, I haven’t discussed my love life in almost thirty years in Hollywood. To say something now would make this time seem somehow different, which isn’t going to make reporters stop calling.”

  Emma scowled.

  “Not commenting will make them stop calling,” Jo said. “Any comment leads to clarifying questions, leads to requests for more. When they know you’re never going to say anything, they eventually leave you alone.”

  Jo was right, whether Emma wanted to believe her or not.

  “I’ve been in this business as long as you’ve been alive, Emma.”

  That got Emma to sigh and tell Jo her schedule, apparently done with discussing the rumors.

  * * *

  —

  Jo’s brother called her when she was eating lunch.

  “Jo Jo, have you been keeping secrets?”

  “You know I hate that nickname, Vinny,” Jo said. “And no, I have not.”

  Vincent laughed. “Really? Because it seems like you’re dating!”

  “Don’t believe everything you read.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he chuckled. “I was just hopeful. Thought you had finally found someone who’d put up with you.”

  “She does put up with me,” Jo said.

  “Maybe you should be dating her.”

  Jo didn’t dignify that by addressing it. “These rumors have done wonders for my social life,” she said instead. “Evelyn yesterday, today my little brother. I probably have a call from Father to look forward to.”

  “Nope,” Vincent said. “He’ll call me for the details later.”

  “Of course.”

  Jo was glad. She last spoke to her father at Christmas, and she’d prefer not to again until next Christmas. She didn’t want to deal with her father’s disapproval, even over something fictional.

  “How are the boys?”

  Her nephews were five and nine and were some of her favorite people in the world. She’d never wanted kids herself, but she adored her brother’s. Even when she was busy, she found time for their baseball games and birthday parties and anywhere else they might want her.

  Vincent told her all about them, and Jo let her lunch run long.

  * * *

  —

  The rumors truly were great for Jo’s social life. Evelyn called again that evening. Again, she didn’t lead with hello.

  “You made Us Weekly.”

  “At this point in my life, I don’t think being in a magazine deserves a congratulatory phone call,” Jo said. She dropped her silverware from dinner into its rack in the dishwasher.

  “You and your girlfriend made Us Weekly,” Evelyn clarified. “It’s gold.” She began to read over the phone. “‘No best-dressed list would be complete without the it couple of the week: Jo Jones and Emma Kaplan.’ In parens they write, ‘Her assistant! Shh!’ They say she’s your assistant with an exclamation mark, but then they say ‘shh’ like readers aren’t supposed to talk about it.”

  “Do you really need to read this to me?”

  “Absolutely,” Evelyn said. She went on, “Blah blah blah, what designers you’re wearing. Then: ‘We can hardly believe the way these two look at each other! Even on the red carpet they’re too busy being enthralled with each other to bother looking at the cameras.’”

  Jo considered hanging up on her. She started the dishwasher.

  “‘Jo keeps her fingers around Emma’s wrist like she can’t bear to let her out of reach,’” Evelyn continued. “‘Though it doesn’t look like there’s much chance of that—the way Emma leans closer.’”

  “Can we please stop this?”

  Evelyn laughed.

  “I hate you,” Jo said.

  “You hate Us Weekly,” Evelyn said. “I’m just the messenger.”

  “Taking joy in rubbing this in my face doesn’t count as being the messenger,” Jo said. She poured herself a glass of red wine, certain she’d need it if this conversation continued.

  “You know, you should probably hate yourself, actually.”

  “Oh, thanks for that,” Jo said. “Really good advice, best friend.”

  “Aiyah, what were you thinking?” Evelyn asked. “You go over twenty years without taking someone to an awards show, and then you bring your assistant. This would have been a big deal even if you’d kept your hands off her.”

  Jo rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I thought I’d get more of the ‘Jo Jones is obsessed with work’ story,” she said. She’d told Emma this already, and it was the truth. “I didn’t think they’d get a picture of us like that.”

  “How in the world did they?”

  Jo sighed. “Emma decided me inviting her as a buffer meant she had to barge onto the red carpet when people yelled questions about Agent Silver.”

  “Did you train her as a guard dog, or did she come that way?”

  “Don’t call my assistant a dog.”

  Evelyn laughed. “You know that only explains why she was next to you. It still doesn’t explain the picture. The way you’re holding her wrist? The way you’re looking at each other?”

  “She almost fled,” Jo said. “With all the cameras on her. I held her in place and I made her laugh to calm her down. It wasn’t anything more.”

  She was there. She knew it wasn’t anything more. But a copy of the picture sat in the top right drawer of Jo’s desk. She kept looking at it; she didn’t know why.

  Eventually, Evelyn said, “It will die down at some point.”

  “I know,” Jo said.

  “How’s Emma dealing with it?”

  Jo chuffed out a laugh. “By coming out to me.”

  “What?”

  Jo relayed the story, much to Evelyn’s delight.

  “I’m surprised they haven’t found evidence of relationships she’s had with other women,” Evelyn said. “Surely that’d be gossip fodder.”

  “Don’t even suggest that,” Jo said. “These rumors are going away, not stirring up more shit for us.”

  “Right, of course. I won’t jinx it.” Evelyn paused. “Though, given that she’s bisexual, maybe you should take a hint from these rumors and make a move on Wonder Woman.”

  “It’s inappropriate to even joke about that.” Jo couldn’t keep the edge out of her voice. “And you should know that, Attorney Yu.”

  “But you like her, and you don’t like many people.”

  “I do like her,” Jo said. “Emma is smart and capable and kind and my employee. Liking her doesn’t mean anything. I like you, too. Most of the time anyway.”

  Evelyn laughed at her and finally let the subject drop.

  4

  JO

  Jo called an all-hands meeting Thursday after lunch. Emma walked beside her to the soundstage, uncharacteristically quiet. Jo could’ve told her about Agent Silver before everyone else, but she hadn’t. Chantal knew, given that she would be taking over Innocents when Jo moved on, but other than that, the news was held close.

 
; Jo kept the announcement quick. This wasn’t going to affect her work on Innocents for months yet, no reason to drag anything out.

  “I’m going to be writing and producing the next Agent Silver movie,” she said.

  Tate hollered, and everyone else joined in with a short round of applause interspersed with shouts of congratulations. Jo caught Emma’s eye—she was beaming.

  “Don’t get too excited,” Jo said. “You’re not rid of me yet. The schedule isn’t set in stone, but I should still be here until at least the middle of next season. Nothing will immediately change. I’m only telling you now because you deserve to hear it from me rather than the press. And so you can extend your congratulations to Chantal, as well, who will be fully taking over the show when I leave.”

  Jo was the one to lead this round of applause. Then she sent everyone back to work.

  There was pep in Emma’s step now as she walked with Jo back to her office. When Jo got back behind her desk, Emma still stood in the open door, hugging her tablet and grinning.

  “Boss.”

  A smile slipped over Jo’s face. “Emma.”

  “Boss,” Emma said again. “You’re really gonna write it!”

  “I really am.”

  “That’s—” Emma threw her arms to her sides and went up on her tiptoes. She looked like a kid on Christmas morning. “That’s awesome.”

  Jo couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s not terrible, is it?”

  “I’m so excited to see what you do with Silver,” Emma said. “You know, when I was a kid, I went through a phase where I read all the companion novels for the Silver movies. I went as Clara Hayes, from Silver Sunset, for Halloween three years in a row.” Her cheeks went a little pink. “I might have been a bit obsessed. And with you writing it, I’ll probably get obsessed again.”

  It was Jo’s turn to blush, just slightly. “I appreciate the enthusiasm,” she said. “But you know we also have to talk about how this affects you.”

  Emma did her typical confused head tilt. “Me?”

  “What job do you want after this?” Jo asked.

  “What?” Emma took a step back.

  “I always help put my assistants on the right career track,” Jo said. “I don’t know exactly how soon I’m moving on from Innocents, or how soon you’d like to move on, but it’s something we should discuss.”

  “Boss, I—” Emma swallowed. “I like my job.”

  “I didn’t say you didn’t.”

  “I just—I’m not sure of the next step yet.”

  Usually by this point in Jo’s working relationship with her assistant, she’d know exactly what said assistant wanted to do with their career. Her assistants generally couldn’t help but talk about their goals, as they used their position as a jumping-off point. Jo understood, and didn’t mind, but it was pleasant with Emma, how she seemed to care more about doing this job than getting the next one. Whatever Emma wanted to do, if she put half as much work into it as she put into being Jo’s assistant, she’d thrive.

  “Think on it,” Jo said.

  Emma nodded once. The conversation clearly took her by surprise. Her beaming pride had turned to wide-eyed anxiety. It was adorable, actually, how fully she seemed to feel everything. Jo had perfected her poker face long ago. Emma was refreshingly different from most people in the business with the way her feelings were always scrawled across her face.

  * * *

  —

  Over the weekend, most coverage of the announcement of Jo’s work on Agent Silver was positive. On Monday, though, Jo and Emma left the studio in step with each other on the way to an off-site meeting, and cameras flashed in their faces. Emma took a step toward Jo and put one arm up in front of her. It was Emma’s usual protective stance in a crowd, whether it be fans or paparazzi, but Jo knew the tabloids would run with it. Nothing to be done about that—they obviously got the shot as the flashes continued.

  It was much like the red carpet. Emma was there as some kind of buffer as the paparazzi shouted questions about Agent Silver at Jo. This time, though, plenty of the questions were about Emma, as well.

  “Any comment on the suggestion you got involved with action movies and your assistant because you’re terrified of getting older?”

  Jo rolled her eyes behind her sunglasses.

  “Was the Agent Silver announcement timed to distract from the scandal with your assistant?”

  When Jo and Emma were only a few feet from the car at the curb, close enough to safety that Emma’s arm had dropped back to her side, one paparazzo asked, “What do you say to reports that you’re, and I’m quoting a source here, ‘a midlife crisis of a person in love with your assistant’?”

  Emma’s feet stumbled, but Jo caught her at the elbow and pulled her forward.

  “No reactions, Ms. Kaplan,” she muttered.

  They got into the car without further incident.

  Emma waited until they pulled away from the studio to fish gape at Jo.

  “He—they—he was quoting a source that said that about you?”

  Jo shrugged. “That source could be a tourist on Rodeo Drive for all we know. It’s nothing to worry about.”

  “But how can they just say that stuff?”

  Jo looked at her. Emma breathed through her mouth, cheeks flushed.

  “You’ve dealt with paparazzi before,” Jo said. “Why are they bothering you now?”

  “Normally we deal with them because they like you, not because they’re being dicks to you!” Emma huffed, clearly affronted.

  Jo tried not to chuckle. “You hardly need to defend my honor.”

  Emma didn’t immediately reply. She turned to look out the window and folded her hands in her lap. Quietly, she said, “Well, it deserves defending.”

  * * *

  —

  Evelyn called to tease again that night. Jo suspected she had an alert set for Jo and Emma’s names together. It was annoying, a bit, but it was the most regularly Jo had talked to her best friend in years, so she didn’t mind.

  She overthought, though. The next day on set, Jo went to lead Emma back toward her office, but froze halfway there.

  This was normal, right? To gently guide Emma with a hand at her back? Jo had never thought about it before, never worried about it, but now they were in front of the crew, and Jo swore some of Emma’s PA friends were watching them.

  Emma tilted her head at Jo. Jo rolled her eyes at herself and pressed her hand into Emma’s lower back, directed her toward the hallway to their offices.

  It was obnoxious, the way she overanalyzed their every interaction now. Jo worried she was crossing a line, doing something inappropriate. Then she worried she was pulling back, allowing the rumors to affect how she behaved. She wanted to be able to focus on work. They were getting down to the end of filming for the season, and Jo was working on the Agent Silver script. She didn’t need any distractions.

  But the rumors were distracting. Every snide article, blind item, tweet—all of them made Jo want to break something. They made Emma even madder.

  “I get why you didn’t want to say anything about us dating.” She backtracked. “Or—not dating, I mean. Like the fact that we’re not dating. I get not talking about that. But this is ridiculous! The idea that you’re going through some midlife crisis and that’s why you want to do Agent Silver! When you know it’s just sexism and racism—God forbid a woman write an established male character. What if she gives him feelings that aren’t punching and having sex?”

  Emma had brought Jo a midmorning coffee and stayed in her office to rant.

  “Who can imagine why Jo Jones might be interested in a movie?” Emma continued. “Oh, I don’t know, she’s already conquered television—maybe she wants to challenge herself to do something new. Something you’ll be great at, by the way. Literally everyone who has ever worked with
you knows you’re going to be great at this, and there’s just these strangers on the internet saying—saying—casting aspersions on your talent!”

  Jo pressed her lips together so she wouldn’t laugh. Emma’s indignation was charming. Jo didn’t even want to break anything anymore.

  “How can you just not say anything when they’re writing stuff like this?” Emma asked. “Acting like you can’t do this?”

  “The people who matter know I can,” Jo said. She hoped it was true.

  Emma looked at her for a moment. “Right,” she said. Then: “I have work to do.”

  She marched out of Jo’s office. Jo didn’t think anything of it. She wished she had. Could have saved herself some trouble.

  Three days later, Chantal knocked on the doorjamb of Jo’s open office door after lunch.

  “Come in,” Jo said, tossing her sandwich wrapper into the trash.

  Chantal shut the door behind her. They didn’t have anything scheduled, which meant this must be bad news. Jo didn’t ask. She knew Chantal wouldn’t beat around the bush.

  “There’s an article on Celeb Online,” Chantal said. “With quotes from your employees about how great you are.”

  “I know.”

  Amir had called Jo that morning, congratulating her on the relaxation of her no-comment policy. The article featured five current and two former employees, unnamed, all extolling Jo’s virtues. All certain she’d make an amazing Agent Silver movie. The smile in Amir’s voice had stayed even after she told him she had nothing to do with the article.

  “Did you know there’s a follow-up?” Chantal asked.

  Jo had been waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  “About how Emma was the one who arranged the first article,” Chantal continued. “Thought you might want a heads-up.”

  Amir certainly wouldn’t think the article was a good idea now. Jo scrubbed a hand through her hair.

  “What was she thinking?” She said it more to herself than to Chantal, but Chantal answered.