The Break(44)

“I do!” I say, and we both laugh. And then we hear a knock, and we’re still laughing when Harrison opens the door, and that’s the very moment when I wish more than anything I’d already told Louisa about him taking me to coffee and Gabe O’Sullivan’s reading tonight. I know right then that not telling her was the worst choice.

“Hey,” Louisa says to Harrison from behind her desk. It’s obvious she thinks he’s here to talk to her. She’s smiling pleasantly just like she usually is at the end of the day when we’re working together; evenings are her favorite time.



I’m sitting on the floor, papers everywhere. I’m facing Harrison, and he takes one look at my face and figures out I haven’t said anything to Louisa about tonight. Agents are master readers of other people’s faces and voices—it’s uncanny, really. Louisa spends half her day sniffing out potential problems and defusing them before her clients even know anything was afoot.

“So I mentioned this to June earlier,” Harrison says slowly, “but she thought she might be working late, so we never really firmed it up.”

I’m marveling at how he’s playing this. He smiles at Louisa, and it looks so different from the way he smiles at me. “Gabe O’Sullivan has a table reading at Playwrights Horizons,” he says.

“That’s nice,” Louisa says mildly. And then she’s quiet, waiting for him to say more.

“I thought I could take June,” Harrison says, “if she’s done in time. I thought it might be nice for her to meet some of the people at Playwrights and to see a reading in action.”

Louisa stiffens. She hasn’t taken me anywhere, and I don’t know if she’s being territorial and thinking that she should be the one to bring me to industry events, or if she’s feeling bad because she hasn’t yet (not that I’ve been expecting it), or maybe that she’s unhappy because this sounds like a date and office romances—while not forbidden—are frowned upon.

I watch her face until I can’t anymore. “I can finish all of this before I go,” I say a little desperately, gesturing to the papers stacked in rectangular piles on the floor.

“Don’t be silly, June,” Louisa says.

I turn to look at her again—to really look, to somehow telegraph that she’s my first choice and that if she’s not okay with this I won’t go.

“You should go,” she says, smiling a modest and very fake smile. “Harrison’s right.” The smile fades into something more practical. “It would be good for you to go to Playwrights and see a reading. You’re reading such a wide variety of scripts these days, by writers of very different calibers. But the ones chosen to be performed at Playwrights are top notch. You’re sure to see something good.”

“Oh, this O’Sullivan script is genius,” Harrison says. “It’s unlike anything he’s done before. Very quiet and unsettling.”

Louisa’s back is up again, and I think, Shut up, Harrison, now’s not the moment to be an agent.

She looks at me and only me. “Have fun tonight and soak it in, June. It’s always good to see writing and acting performed at a high level. And this is a great idea,” she says, twirling her ergonomic chair until she almost loses her balance. She recovers. “Really, I should start taking you to more things,” she says with a wave. “It’s just, you know most of my clients are in films and not plays, but there is a film festival coming up next month that we could go to together . . .” Her smile is forced not because she doesn’t mean what she says: it’s because she has to say it in front of Harrison. The tension in the room is so thick it makes me sure they’ve had bad blood in the past.

“I would love that,” I tell her, meaning it more than anything, but also very much meaning this next thing I say: “But I also like just hanging out here with you. It’s more fun than I had in college.”

This makes Louisa burst out laughing. “Okay,” she says. “Well, that makes me happy.” We grin at each other like we’re the only ones there, like Harrison isn’t a part of us and won’t ever be, and like that’s for the better. He shifts his weight. His shadow passes over one of my piles.

“Well then,” he says, pulling Louisa and me apart with his deep baritone voice. “Let’s get going.” I can feel the weight of his gaze even though I’m still locked on Louisa. I turn around and he smiles. “The night is young, June,” he says, but it’s like he’s saying it to Louisa, to push the envelope and make it sound even more exciting than it maybe even is, to get in one little jab before we go.

“All right,” I say. “I’ll just get my stuff.”

Louisa gives me one more smile, but this one is wistful, the way I’ve only seen my mom look at me before I leave the house, like each time could be the last time and there’s really nothing either of us can do about it.

“Goodbye,” I say.

“Have a good night, June,” Louisa says, but I’m already out the door, a zap of electricity across my skin, the one I’m always looking for. A smile cracks on my face.

“Let’s go,” I whisper, quiet enough that only I can hear it.





TWENTY-ONE


Rowan. Friday morning. November 11th.