Pretending He's Mine

by Mia Sosa

  “I’m happy for you, then.” I pull away when my stomach grumbles. “I think I need to stuff my face now. I was so nervous earlier I didn’t have an appetite. It’s returned with a vengeance.” I round the counter and search for the drawer full of take-out menus. “Want to order something from Ziki?”

  He shakes his head and unknots his tie. “I’ll pass, but don’t let that stop you. I had dinner with Carter.” He yawns.

  “You did?”

  That he had dinner with my brother shouldn’t be a significant revelation, but it drops at my feet like a bomb. Carter’s the something important that came up.

  “I did,” he says as he peers at me. “The development has something to do with his career.”

  “Why didn’t you mention that you couldn’t come to open mic night because you were with Carter?”

  It’s a stupid question. Why does it matter? But now that I’ve asked, I’m interested in his answer. Maybe I’ll gain some insight into how he rationalized not coming to see me perform.

  He cocks his head and shakes it, rapidly rubbing the back of his neck. “Ash, I’m tired. I could have mentioned it, but I forgot to. Most days, it’s very easy for me to compartmentalize what I do. I was working with your brother an hour ago. Now I’m not. What difference does it make?”

  I envy his ability to divide his life into sections, but my mind doesn’t work that way. Knowing that Carter was the reason he wasn’t there for me changes the intensity of my disappointment, as though it were a bland meal sprinkled with the right amount of spices to alter its flavors and make it an entirely new dish. I hate my reaction, mostly because it reveals a difficult truth: Where Julian’s concerned, I still can’t shake the lingering worry that I’ll always come second to Carter.

  “You didn’t show up for open mic night because you were with my brother. That matters to me.”

  The pinched, tension-filled expression on his face broadcasts his annoyance. “I was working with your brother.”

  “Having dinner.”

  “Yes,” he says, his voice incredulous. “My job often involves dinner, drinks, shows, whatever.” He leans on the counter. “It was important. I wouldn’t have ditched the show otherwise.”

  “What was so important?”

  He straightens and purses his lips. “Are you serious? You’re questioning my motives?”

  The conversation is deteriorating, but I don’t know how to stop it from devolving further. I just want him to talk to me. “I’m asking you to share your reasons, that’s all. Is that so hard to do?”

  He sighs. “In this instance, it is. Carter’s got an exciting opportunity in the works, but I’m not supposed to say anything about it. Not yet. I’ll tell you soon, though. I promise.”

  It’s never pleasant being an outsider. It’s even worse when your lover is one of the insiders pushing you out of the circle. I don’t doubt what he’s saying is true, but that’s not the point. He chose Carter over me. I’m tempted to put on a mask and act as though everything’s okay, but I vowed not to pretend to be someone I’m not, even if doing so reveals my flaws. “I’m not going to lie. It hurts that you were with Carter when I wanted you to be with me.”

  He drops his head and sighs. Seconds pass before he raises his head. This time, he’s wearing a blank expression and staring off at nothing. “Can we talk about my day for a minute? One, I discovered a colleague had been fired and the agency is gunning to fire a few more. Two, I learned my father is showing early signs of dementia, and while he’s fine now, I’m reeling from the news and thinking about my father’s inevitable decline. Three, a director who’s trying to court my biggest client showed up at my office unannounced and invited me to dinner. I made the call that accepting was the right thing to do for my client and me. Four, I came home and I’m getting reamed by my girlfriend for not attending a fucking open mic night.”

  He imbues the words open mic night with such derision that I take a step back, grateful for the counter that would make it too difficult for my hand to connect with his cheek. That would be a mistake I can’t take back. Nevertheless, I’m no longer willing to minimize my music, and I’ll be damned if I let him pick up the slack. “I’m sorry about your father, and I wish you’d had a better day, but belittling something I’m proud of isn’t the way to improve your situation.”

  He squeezes his eyes shut and rubs his temples. “I’m sorry. I know tonight was important to you, and I truly wish I’d been there.”

  “Look, this won’t be the last time this issue comes up for us, and I need to be honest here, I’m scared.”

  He drops his head and sighs. “Of what, Ashley?”

  I lean over and place my hands on the counter, taking his hands in mine. When he looks up at me with wary eyes, I continue. “Scared that you were right all along, that we’re not supposed to be a couple, not with our respective baggage weighing us down. Maybe there’s too much background noise for us to ever enjoy just being together. Maybe it’s not healthy for either of us.”

  I don’t know exactly what I’m trying to accomplish here. It’d be nice if he assured me that my concerns are unwarranted, but a small part of me suspects he’s just as scared as I am and my voicing these fears only serves to compound his. Am I trying to sabotage our relationship?

  He lets out a heavy sigh. “I’m scared I was right all along, too. I was hoping I wouldn’t be, but I don’t enjoy being put in this position. You’re asking me to choose between you and my career, and that’s not fair.”

  I slump my shoulders. “Wow. If that’s what you got from this conversation, then you have more baggage than I thought.”

  Now that I know where his head is at, I realize Julian minimizes his accomplishments just as much as I once did. I didn’t strive for anything because I didn’t want to be measured against my brother and come up short, whereas Julian thinks his only true professional accomplishment is being Carter’s agent.

  How can one person be the source of so much angst solely by virtue of his existence? Poor Carter. He deserves better, and so does Julian. “Julian, how many clients do you have?”

  He raises a brow and tilts his head at me. “Two dozen. Why?”

  “So Carter’s not your only client. And you manage to get those people work?”

  “Of course.”

  “So why do you think your career begins and ends with Carter?”

  He shakes his head. “That’s not exactly how I see it.”

  “No? Interesting. Because from where I stand, that seems to be how you see it.”

  He clenches his jaw, and a vein at his temple throbs from the pressure. “Well, I wouldn’t have those clients if it weren’t for Carter, and I probably wouldn’t still have my job if it weren’t for Carter. My boss has told me that in so many words.”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “Right. Because the head of an LA agency has an incentive to tell you how much you’re valued? I haven’t even met the man and I can see through him. And anyway, if that’s true, the problem’s your boss, not you. And here’s the rub. I love my brother, but I wouldn’t be a decent girlfriend if I didn’t point out the obvious to you.”

  He narrows his eyes at me. “Which is?”

  Maybe I should stop here. This isn’t the discussion I’d planned on. It would be easy to characterize this as an overreaction on my part and spend the rest of the evening watching TV with him—or better yet, making love. But if we don’t work this out now, we’ll need to work it out another time. Because I do want to get past this.

  “Which is?” he repeats.

  I drop my arms and exhale. “He’s holding you back.”

  “From what?”

  “From being the person you’re meant to be.”

  My observation darkens the room like storm clouds rolling in. He clenches his jaw again and flares a nostril for good measure. “For fuck’s sake, Ash, how does that even make sense?” He gestures up and down his body, his eyes fierce. “This is me. The good, the bad, and everything in between.
If I’m not who you want, fine, but don’t try to pretend it’s because I’m lacking in some way when we both know you’re just pissed about me not showing up tonight.”

  I rush around the counter and cup his jaw. “Listen to me, Julian. That’s not what I’m saying at all. This isn’t about open mic night. This isn’t about Carter’s supersecret project. This is about you, about me. About us. About where we need to be in our own lives to make this work.”

  He snaps his head back. “So what are you saying? You think Carter and I never should have worked together? That’s something my father’s been saying for years.”

  I take his hand, physically pleading with him to look at me. “I’m saying that people change. That people can make decisions that make sense at one point in their lives and no longer work for them later. It doesn’t mean you chose incorrectly. But you’re not stuck doing anything you don’t want to do.”

  He drops his head, refusing to meet my gaze. “I’m an agent, Ash. This is what I do. I’m not stuck. And I’m never going to buy into the notion that your brother’s hindering me in any way. How fucking ungrateful would I be to think that?”

  I take his chin and lift his head. “He’s the one who should be grateful.”

  He pulls away and scrubs a hand down his face. “I’ll be honest now, too. I don’t understand any of this. If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you’re searching for reasons to drive a wedge between us.”

  “No, I’m trying to bring us closer together.”

  He stares at me, his eyes cold and remote. “Well, it’s not working.”

  A weight settles against my chest, making it difficult to breathe. My T-shirt is suddenly ten times too small, constricting my mental range of movement. Maybe that’s a good thing, because the heaviness in my body is preventing me from lashing out in frustration. Isn’t this what I wanted? To force us to confront these issues, one way or the other? “Friends with benefits would be so much easier, am I right?” My voice is surprisingly calm and clear, not remotely close to reflecting how this conversation is tearing me up inside.

  He forces a smile. “Look, I’m really tired. Can we talk more tomorrow?”

  With the broadest smile I can manage, I nod. “Sure. Have a good night.”

  He pivots and trudges down the hall to his bedroom, throwing back a few meaningless words over his shoulder before he disappears. “Sleep well, Ash.”

  In other words, don’t plan on sleeping with me. Sometimes when you pick at a scab, you make it worse, revealing the tender sore underneath. I unknowingly did that tonight, but I don’t regret it. We can’t resolve our issues if we don’t acknowledge them.

  When I hear his shower running, I pick up my guitar and strum a few indistinct chords. At least I have this. I’ll always have this.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Julian

  THAT FUCKING CRACK in the ceiling must be a metaphor for my life. I could have sworn it was barely noticeable only weeks ago, but this morning the fucker’s two inches long. If I don’t repair it soon, it’s going to be a bigger headache to correct in the future. Or maybe it’s a metaphor for my relationship with Ashley. What the hell happened last night? We went from happy to hurting in sixty seconds flat.

  After half-assing through my morning routine, I venture to the kitchen. I’m fixing a cup of coffee when Ashley comes out of the bedroom with a suitcase trailing behind her, the guitar case strapped across her back, and a large trash bag in one hand. I’m tired and cranky, and I still haven’t figured out what I could have done differently to stop yesterday’s conversation from veering off course. I fear anything else I say will only make the situation worse. “What’s going on?”

  Her hair is styled in a loose ponytail, and her skin is free of makeup, making her appear younger than her twenty-six years. Her expression is placid, the perfect advertisement for a yoga product—or a constipation remedy. “I’m staying with Lisa for a few days until I figure out where to go next.”

  “Lisa. Your coworker?”

  “Yeah.”

  I want to tell her she doesn’t need to leave. I want to let her know I’d enjoy having her here even though she gutted me last night and we’re not happy with each other right now. But that’s not what I say. “Running away as usual, I see.”

  Damn, I should cut off my own tongue. Fuck you, morning. Fuck you.

  Her eyes blaze with contempt, but then she blows out a long breath and composes herself. In a cool voice, she says, “You’re running, too. You’re lying to yourself if you don’t see that.”

  I set my mug down and place my hands on my hips. “So what? You want me to stop working with your brother? Is that the ultimatum you’re throwing down?”

  “I’d never presume to tell you what to do. You need to figure this out yourself, because anything I say is going to make you defensive. Just do me a favor. Whatever you decide to do about your career, make sure it’s what you want. I’d hate for you to wake up one day ten years from now and discover you let your own happiness slip from your reach because you chose the path of least resistance.”

  I can’t contain the sarcasm even if I tried. “Thanks. I’ll bear that in mind.”

  She stares at me for a moment, her lips parted as if she’s going to say something else. Instead, she gives me a curt nod and lifts the garbage bag off the floor. “Take care of yourself, Julian. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

  My protective instincts kick in as I realize she really is leaving. “Wait. Do you need a ride somewhere? How can I get in contact with you?”

  “Lisa’s picking me up, and you have my phone number. Carter will know where I’m staying.”

  My fingers are itching to take her in my arms and tell her to stay. But that wouldn’t be fair to either of us. She wants assurances I can’t give her, and she wants me to make decisions I’m not ready to make. “Bye, Ash.”

  She salutes me. “Bye, J-Dawg.” Then she spins around and walks out the door.

  I won’t pretend it’s easy watching her go, but it’s for the best. Hers and mine.

  I’M GOING TO strangle someone today. Hell, Marie won’t come near my office, and my scruffy appearance is warning everyone else away. Good thing, too, because my patience is nowhere to be found this week, and the casting director on the line is the latest in a string of people unlucky enough to cross paths with me.

  Bill Nance thinks he’s God’s gift to Hollywood. In truth, he’s a slimy gatekeeper who got his gig by knowing important people’s secrets. Unfortunately, those important people bankroll major television productions, including a made-for-TV film that should have been a perfect opportunity for Gabriel.

  “Let me get this straight,” I say into the speakerphone. “Gabriel walked out on an audition. Without provocation.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t call it unprovoked, exactly.” He chuckles. “Let’s just say I administered a bit of truth serum first.”

  “Truth about what?” I say, unable to hide the annoyance in my voice.

  “I told him he didn’t look clean-cut enough for the role of Jacob. The part calls for a young stockbroker from a middle-class background who gets hardened by prison time. It wouldn’t be believable.”

  “Because he’s Latino.”

  “Right,” he says without a hint of embarrassment or shame.

  What a dick. I’m guessing he doesn’t think I’m believable as a Hollywood agent, either.

  “Look, I know how hard it is to get jobs when you’re trying to get a foot in the door, so I asked him if he wanted to read for the part of José. It’s perfect for him.”

  “Let me guess, José’s a Latino inmate who befriends Jacob and helps him on his journey of self-discovery.”

  “Hey, you’ve read the script?” Nance asks.

  Jesus Christ. I take a deep breath and count to three. I’d love to explain to Nance how problematic his behavior was, but I stop myself, remembering Quinn’s admonition: “Your job is to keep Carter Stone happy, so he’ll want to work with SCM a
nd continue to make us money. You do Carter no favors by pissing off the very people who want to work with him.” The deal with Sanderson isn’t inked, and I’m hesitant to ruffle anyone’s feathers until it is. But signing a multimillion-dollar deal feels less important to me than speaking up for Gabriel. It’s the right thing to do.

  Fuck. I’m operating at half capacity, stymied by the politics of the business and my boss’s threats. If I fuck up things for Carter, I fuck up everything.

  My chest tightens. Whoa.

  Where did that come from? Even I know two plus two does not equal five.

  And in that moment, I realize Ashley’s right. I do think my career begins and ends with Carter, and my professional relationship with him is holding me back. Through no fault of his, but still . . . dammit. Why couldn’t I see this before? You didn’t want to see it, my inner voice whispers.

  My inner voice may be quiet, but my outside voice is loud. “No, I didn’t read the script, Nance. I took a wild guess. The point is, you treated Gabe like trash, and that’s not okay.”

  “I . . . didn’t . . . uh . . . mean anything by it,” he says sheepishly. “I thought being frank would be the best approach.” He gives me a long-suffering sigh. “Look, I think you might be too close to this issue—”

  “So, what? You want to speak to my boss instead? I’ll dial him myself.”

  He clears his throat before he responds. “Hart, I respect you. You’ve got a great reputation in a business that brings out the worst in people. But you can’t be sensitive about these things. It’s business. And at the end of the day, money talks in Hollywood. Everything else is set dressing.”

  He’s right about that. But he fails to see what I can grasp easily. Audiences are clamoring for movies that reflect the diverse world we live in. The spate of recent movies fronted by black creatives that surpassed Hollywood’s expectations is just one example of how out of touch people like Nance are. And studios will follow the money if someone helps them see the forest for the trees.