“You, too, Mr. Davis.”
He laughed. “Please, call me Barry.”
Emma nodded and could tell she was blushing. Jo gave her an inscrutable look.
“I just need to grab my water from my office,” Jo said. “And we’ll be on our way.”
As soon as Jo disappeared into her office, Barry stepped closer to Emma. His cologne smelled like . . . lumber? Was that a thing expensive cologne smelled like? Emma smiled at him and tried to remind herself that he was just a person like anyone else.
“I’m excited to take a look at set. See what Jo Jones can do,” he said.
“She’s incredibly talented,” Emma said. It was true, even if she was still mad at Jo.
“And you know those talents well, don’t you?” Barry said.
Jo returned with her tumbler then, and Barry slid easily into step with her, somehow making it look like he hadn’t been in Emma’s personal space, like he hadn’t made an inappropriate comment. Emma’s feet stayed rooted to the ground.
Maybe he didn’t mean it that way, she told herself. She was just being sensitive.
Jo and Barry were almost around the corner before Jo stopped and looked back at her.
“Emma, are you coming?”
Barry’s smile was guileless.
“Of course,” Emma said. “Sorry, one moment.”
She pretended to do something on her computer, grabbed her tablet off her desk, then followed.
Jo led Barry on a tour of the studio. This was normally Emma’s job. Emma was usually the one who charmed people with anecdotes as they moved through the building. Today, though, she stayed quiet, couldn’t stop looking at Barry’s face. He was perfectly nice. He didn’t stand too close or say anything inappropriate. She was probably overreacting. Maybe she had misinterpreted.
On set, Chantal called for a break and Barry got introduced around. Emma let out a breath. Her whole upper body felt tight, like she’d been holding perfect posture for hours. Jo furrowed her eyebrows at Emma, but asked nothing.
Barry circled back to their side eventually. Emma shuffled a little closer to Jo.
“Feel settled in?” Jo asked Barry.
He grinned. “Feel great.”
“Then I suppose I’ll leave the two of you to it.”
If it were any other week, Emma might have said something to get Jo to stay, might have somehow indicated she didn’t want to be alone with this man. But Jo had barely looked at her since asking about her inhaler that morning. She didn’t look at her then, either, just turned and headed toward her office, leaving Emma beside Barry as Chantal announced the end of the break.
“I get what you see in her,” Barry said at Jo’s retreating form. His eyes were glued to her ass.
Emma swallowed. “She’s certainly something.”
Barry laughed. Emma would have rather heard nails on a chalkboard. The quiet-on-set call went up, and Emma was grateful for the reprieve.
This happened. Of course it did. They were in Hollywood. Just because more people talked about it now didn’t mean it stopped happening. Emma had dealt with plenty of disgusting, overstepping men. She knew how to handle the situation. Keep her smile polite but her nails sharp.
But this was Barry Davis.
He hadn’t even done anything all that bad, she knew. A couple of rude comments that he could pretend weren’t meant that way. It was nothing, really. And nothing she couldn’t handle. She straightened her posture, kept her head up.
They watched filming for a while. Emma’s eyes stayed on the actors until Barry took a step closer to her. She countered, stepping away, and his quiet chuckle sounded predatory, but he didn’t pursue her.
He didn’t try anything the rest of the morning—didn’t stand too close, didn’t say anything inappropriate. Emma knew she hadn’t imagined what had happened, but she still doubted herself.
He hadn’t meant it that way.
It hadn’t been a big deal.
It was fine.
She had to win him over, anyway. He could help her career or destroy it, if he wanted.
And, really, he was fine now. He made insightful comments about the show, taught her more about directing over the course of two hours than any of the books Jo had suggested for her. They ate lunch together; craft services had set up under a tent outside on the lot today. Emma sat across from Barry at a folding table. Normally she liked to plop down in the middle of anyone eating at the same time she was, but everyone gave the two of them a wide berth. She knew it was because she was supposed to be learning from him, but all she wanted to do was sit next to Phil and steal food off his plate. Instead she picked at her salad and tried to keep up conversation.
“What was your favorite film to direct?” she asked, because asking famous men about themselves was a good way to not have to talk for a while.
Barry didn’t answer the question, though.
“Look, you seem like you can handle yourself,” he said as he chewed a bite of his sandwich. “If you can handle me, I know a guy who’s looking for a second AD. I’ll recommend you.”
Emma rolled her shoulders down from where they’d shot up toward her ears. She looked at Jo, standing across the lot and talking to Aly by the drinks.
“If I can handle you?” she said. Maybe playing innocent would get her out of this.
“I mean, you are more than welcome to use your mouth,” Barry said so casually that he could be talking about traffic, “but your hand is all I need.”
Emma flinched hard enough to drop her fork onto her plate.
“What?” Barry had the gall to sound incredulous. “You’re already trying to sleep your way into the business. I can get you more opportunities than her.”
Emma wanted a lighting fixture to fall on his head. No, she wanted to bring it down on him herself. There was a scream inside her mouth, behind her eyes, building from a clenched fist in her chest.
“Please excuse me,” she said, and hated herself for the civility.
She left her plate and fled. Saliva was thick in her mouth, her blood rushing in her ears. Jo must have finished her conversation, because Emma almost ran into her twenty yards from the table where Barry still sat.
“Excuse me,” Jo said.
Emma was afraid that if she opened her mouth, she might vomit. She opened it anyway.
“Jo, I—” She didn’t know if she could say this out loud. “Barry . . .” She bit down on a grimace. “He’s . . .”
Jo sighed, half rolling her eyes. “Ms. Kaplan, I know you’re . . .” She paused. Emma stared blankly at her, no idea what she was going to say. “If you’re starstruck here, you have to get over it. I pulled a lot of strings to get him here for you. Don’t make me look bad. He can open a lot of doors for you if you make a good impression.”
Emma remembered telling her how much she liked Barry. Before Jo invested, before the baseball game, before everything, when they talked, when they told each other things, Emma had gushed about her favorite movies, which meant she gushed about Barry and his movies. Of course Jo thought she was starstruck. It wasn’t like Jo heard or saw anything. It wasn’t like Barry had been anything but pleasant to anyone but Emma. No one knew about it. Emma wished she could pretend it didn’t happen, could go back to how excited she was to meet him, just this morning. She glanced at Jo, who looked more annoyed than concerned. Of course she was worried about Emma making her look bad. Of course that was all that mattered. Emma was furious with her suddenly, for everything.
“I’m not starstruck,” she snarled, keeping her voice low. “I’m the opposite, in fact. Unimpressed. And I have other work to do at my desk, so if you’ll excuse me—”
“Is this really what you want to do?” Jo asked, her eyebrows up by her hairline. “Throw this opportunity away?”
Emma didn’t bother responding. She left without a second gl
ance.
She wasn’t sure how she made it back to her desk, only that she did, and knocked her tablet off it as she reached for her purse. It hit the ground with a crack loud enough that she spared one moment to worry it broke, but she didn’t care enough to check. Instead she grabbed the purse and locked herself in Jo’s private bathroom just in time for the tears to start.
She was so angry: at Jo, at Barry, at herself. She couldn’t believe—or, she could. Maybe she even should. She knew people thought she was sleeping with Jo. Even though she wasn’t, even though Jo was maybe with her former costar, the rumors of their being together had been around long enough that Emma should’ve been used to people assuming she was sleeping her way into the business. But the way Barry said it, the way he assumed she would—she felt sick, and stupid, and like she needed to get it together.
She gave herself five minutes in the bathroom, figured there was no way Jo and Barry would finish lunch in that time. She spent only half of it crying, used the rest to make it look like she hadn’t cried at all. She blew her nose until nothing more came out, then cold water on her fingertips, patted gently under her eyes; a cold, wet paper towel to the back of her neck to cool herself down. She was grateful she tended toward minimalism when it came to makeup so that she didn’t have smudges of dark liner and shadow everywhere. Instead it just took a little touching up, and her waterproof mascara held up like a champ. She looked in the mirror, and as long as she could ignore the hard rock in her stomach, she could almost believe she was fine.
* * *
—
Emma spent the afternoon finding excuses to not be near Barry. The crease between Jo’s eyes got more pronounced every time Emma said she was so sorry but she had to step away, but Emma didn’t care. Jo could think whatever she wanted.
Avery texted a couple of times. She knew today was the day Barry Davis was going to be on set, and she knew Emma loved his movies, and she was being a good sister and checking in. Emma didn’t reply to any of her messages.
She thought she was going to make it through the day. It was almost five, and they weren’t shooting late. They were running through blocking for what would be filmed tomorrow. Normally, Emma and Jo wouldn’t be around for this, but Barry was here to observe, and so they observed with him. It was the last thing Emma had to get through before she could go home.
The scene they were blocking was a big one. Holly’s character figured out she wasn’t straight, and she was saying it out loud for the first time, voicing it to Tate’s character while pacing her living room. Emma was glad to get to watch the scene come together—she liked to see the actors and director and crew all working it out.
She’d almost forgotten Barry was there until he spoke up.
“Excuse me, if I may,” he said. Everyone came to a complete stop to pay attention to him. “What if she was unhappy about this situation? I know she’s nervous here, but maybe it’s a little upsetting to her, too, to say ‘I’m bisexual.’”
Emma’s whole body did a record scratch, like a needle dragged across her brain.
“Are you kidding me?” she snapped.
Every person on set looked at her. For once it didn’t make her nervous.
“That’s maybe the worst direction I’ve ever heard,” she said. “It fits neither the character nor the show. Have you ever even seen an episode?”
Barry had this surprised smile like it was adorable that the little assistant was speaking up. Emma wanted to hit him. She wanted an actual answer out of him, too, wanted him to explain why the hell he thought that was a good directorial choice. It was all kinds of wrong, and she couldn’t believe Barry Davis, her favorite director, had turned out to be this terrible. In every way.
“Perhaps when you do more than get the coffee, people will be interested in your opinion.” Jo’s voice was wire taut. Emma’s eyes cut to her boss, who wasn’t even looking at her. “In the meantime, I could use an iced latte.”
Emma felt her mouth drop open. Jo could not agree with this man. She couldn’t possibly think that was good direction. Emma blinked at her.
Jo flicked her fingers toward the door.
It was then that Emma finally processed everyone staring at her, then she processed that she had told off an Oscar-nominated director in front of—in front of everyone. Tate and Holly. Yuri working on lights. Phil’s eyebrows were close to his hairline. Chantal pretended to look at the script, at least, but everyone else was—Emma couldn’t believe she’d done that.
She made herself walk, not run. Iced latte, coming right up.
She tried to be unimposing when she walked back onto the set. She tried to blend into the walls. It didn’t work. No one looked directly at her, but they were all aware of her, it felt like. She had considered not coming back, but Jo had asked for an iced latte, and ignoring her boss immediately after talking back to a famous director was probably not a great idea.
Emma stopped at Jo’s side, didn’t look at Barry. Jo watched Tate and Holly run through the blocking. She reached out for her iced latte without so much as a glance at Emma. After Emma handed it over, Jo fluttered her hand again.
“You’re not needed here,” she said quietly.
Emma’s face burned with shame. She went back to her desk.
Maybe she should’ve cried in the bathroom again, but she didn’t actually feel like crying. She felt like fighting. She felt like quitting. It was an overreaction, she knew. She couldn’t quit over one bad day.
But it was a bad week.
She couldn’t make a decision like this while anger bubbled under her skin, but she wanted to anyway. She had some money saved. Maybe she could find something new over the next hiatus.
* * *
—
When Jo came back, Emma’s only solace was that Barry wasn’t with her. Jo’s face was blank, her cheeks pinched, just slightly, but enough that Emma noticed.
“Ms. Kaplan,” she said as she passed Emma’s desk, “my office.”
Emma pressed her lips together, held her head high.
“Door,” Jo said.
Emma took her time in closing the door, tried to compose herself, tried to feel bad for what she said to Barry. She couldn’t do it.
“I wasn’t wrong,” she said before Jo had the chance to yell at her. “You can’t possibly believe she should sound unhappy about this situation. ‘This situation’? Like figuring out she’s bisexual is some horrible predicament for her to be in.”
“Look, I know this is personal for you, but—”
“No,” Emma said, and wow, she wouldn’t have to quit, because she was going to get fired for all the bad decisions she’d made today, interrupting her boss being the most recent. “You don’t get to act like this is just some personal thing for me. This isn’t about me. This is about the show and the characters and the story you’re telling. That direction was wrong, for all of it. And if it wasn’t? If that’s what you actually want to do? You don’t get to win GLAAD awards and give that speech and then go around making characters unhappy about their ‘bisexual situation.’”
The GLAADs had been months and months ago, but it was a good speech. It was a great speech. It was the type of speech Emma expected from Jo, because Jo had always been fantastic when it came to queer issues, and Emma couldn’t believe she agreed with Barry.
Jo dropped herself into her chair, scrubbed a hand through her hair.
“I know,” she sighed.
Emma blinked. “What?”
“You thought I disagreed? You thought—what? That I’m the type of lesbian who thinks bisexuals are greedy and always going to leave you for a man?” Jo scoffed. “Please give me more credit than that.”
“I—um.” Emma wanted to hold onto her anger but her brain short-circuited around the word lesbian.
“Christ, Emma, of course you were right,” Jo said. “I told Barry as soon a
s you left.”
Emma blinked at her.
“I’m sorry I treated you that way,” Jo said. “But God, people already think we’re fucking—you think me letting you talk to Barry Davis out of turn was going to help?”
That made sense, sure. Maybe if Emma weren’t having such a terrible day, she would have figured that out herself. Except, for months now, Jo had been all about ignoring the rumors like that would make them go away. The rumors that could be true, given that Jo was a lesbian. Apparently.
That wasn’t the important part of this conversation, though. Sorry or not, Jo had been treating her poorly. To do it in front of this awful man was worse. Jo was supposed to be winning back Emma’s trust, and instead it felt like she’d picked Barry over her, which was ridiculous. This was Emma’s career, not choosing teams on the playground. But that was still somehow what hurt the most.
“I just wish you had had my back,” Emma said quietly.
“I can’t have your back in everything if we ever want these rumors to go away,” Jo said. “I’m your boss, Emma. I have to act like it.”
“There’s a difference between acting like my boss and throwing me under the bus,” Emma said. “And you know there is, because you’ve never done that before.”
Jo fisted her hand in her hair and tugged. She looked sad, at least, which Emma liked even if she shouldn’t.
“I don’t know why the rumors even matter to you,” Emma said.
“Excuse me?”
“I don’t know why you care about the rumors anyway.” Emma couldn’t figure out why she was choosing this battle, except she was mad at Jo for everything with Avery, was mad at her again for telling her off in front of people, no matter the reason. She didn’t want to be. She wanted to be over it all. Being mad only made things worse, but she couldn’t stop. And so she stood her ground. “You’re seen as getting some hot young thing. I’m the one who people think is unable to get a job without sleeping with someone.”
Jo’s teeth flashed into a smile she quickly bit down on. “While I admire your confidence in being some hot young thing,” she said, and Emma realized that might have been a bit much, “that is not all I’m seen as. And I know I have a reputation for not giving a fuck what people think about me, but I’ve cultivated that. I’ve cultivated that because it’s easier than people knowing they can hurt me.”
Something to Talk About Page 15
