Borderline (The Arcadia Project, #1)(47)

“Your name’s not on it?” Phil said. “You rewrote the damn thing from scratch!”

“That’s how it works,” said Tjuan, feeding a scrap of bacon to Monty, who was perched nearby on the table. “I get the money, they get the credit.”

Phil snorted. “I wouldn’t ghostwrite one note of a song; I don’t care how much they offered.”

“I don’t want the damn credit. My name does a script more harm than good anymore.”

I must have been gaping at Tjuan like a fish as I sat down; I left an empty chair between us for the sake of politeness. “You’re a for-real screenwriter?” I said.

“Nope.” He slammed shut like a vault. Monty’s ear flicked backward, and he jumped down off the table, bacon notwithstanding.

“Sure you are!” said Phil. “Just because you don’t get any—”

“We’re done talking now,” said Tjuan, and Phil sighed. I took the hint and gulped down the rest of my omelet in silence.

Was that why Tjuan was so hostile to me? Did he see me as competition? If so, he’d be thrilled to hear that Caryl’s grand plans for my career involved me fetching lattes and picking up dry cleaning. When I was finished eating, I went to pay Teo my compliments before excusing myself to call my more tempting career option.

“Berenbaum,” he answered, packing about as much stress as a man could cram into three syllables. I felt a stab of guilt but powered past it.

“It’s Millie,” I said.

“I know, kiddo, I’ve got caller ID. What’s up?” Short, clipped. I knew not to take it personally; Dr. Davis and I had worked on this. What is the goal of this interaction? My goal was to get information, not to stroke my ego.

“I found out what you and Susman were arguing about.”

He didn’t respond right away. I hated not knowing if it was distraction, guilt, annoyance, confusion, or something else entirely.

“And?” he finally said.

“I just wondered why you didn’t bring it up before.”

“Didn’t I?” He sounded so confused it was contagious. Had he?

“I’m pretty sure you didn’t.”

“I don’t know what to tell you. Are you still planning to go to the train station today?”

The change of subject set off alarm bells. “Absolutely. But don’t you find it odd that one of your business partners was leaving Johnny insistent voice mails and the other one was invited to his resort room?”

“You’re saying you think this has to do with the studio?”

“That didn’t occur to you when Teo brought up Inaya the first day?”

“He said she was having drama with Johnny. Johnny’s not a partner in the studio, so why would she call him about it instead of, I don’t know, me?”

“A good question.”

“Ask her if you want, so long as you don’t mention fairies, but I’m serious about staying off Vivian’s radar.”

“If she’s so dangerous, why are you even working with her?”

“She promised not to cause me harm.”

“And you believe her?”

“Fey,” he reminded me.

“Right, fey can’t lie. Sorry, I’m used to doubting everything people say.”

“With fey you only have to doubt what you see. Look, sorry I can’t be any more help, but I’m putting out fires right and left today.”

A rule I had made for myself when trying to bluff my way through Hollywood was always to be the first to start wrapping up a conversation. I seemed to be repeatedly failing at this with Berenbaum, and it irked me.

You deserve an answer. Stand up for yourself.

“Mr. Berenbaum—”

“David.”

“David, just tell me straight up. Why didn’t you mention that this might have to do with the studio? You’ve had a dozen opportunities, and the fact that it never came up is really bother-ing me.”

Another brief silence. I was starting to hate the phone.

“Millie, I honestly don’t know what to tell you. I could swear I brought it up when we were talking about Susman. I’m just so scattered right now. I’m obsessed with getting this film out and—to be honest—not knowing anymore if it’s going to save or tank my career. My head is not in a good place for this.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, “but if you want to see Johnny again, you might need to shift your focus a little.”

“Duly scolded. I’ll call you tomorrow, early, while my head’s still clear. Promise.”

After hanging up I felt a rush of anxiety. Had he blown me off? Was this flash powder? Even if not, the conversation hadn’t gone well. I knew he was already over it, but I couldn’t stop tormenting myself with the idea that his last thought of me was that I’d interrupted his already stressful workday with an accusation.

I had to resist the urge to think of something brilliant to say and call him right back. Only Dr. Davis’s voice, almost a part of my own consciousness by now, kept me from behaving like an idiot.

Push it away. He already has.

Caryl was sitting on her favorite couch in the living room, so I took myself and my crutches over to her.

“Whatever is going on,” I said, “I’m ninety percent sure it’s about the new studio. At least this gives us something to research. Berenbaum doesn’t want me talking to Vivian—”