Something to Talk About(21)

“They know what they’re doing,” Avery said. “Let’s get you a drink or three.”

Emma stayed stressed until her sister put a gimlet in her hand.

Emma loved wrap parties. Everyone intermingled—big-name actors and location assistants alike, coming together and having a good time. She sought out her old crew. She’d worked in the props department for three years before Jo handpicked her as her assistant. She missed the people. Even though she still saw them around, it wasn’t the same as being one of them. Phil was her best friend from back then, and he still was, when she got the chance to hang out with him. He let her set her drink down before he scooped her into a hug that lifted her off her feet.

“How’s life?” he asked. He held his arm up against hers, his skin bronze comparatively. “Remember when we used to compete to see who got the tannest? Outdoor shoots and driving golf carts all over the lot? And now look at you, whitey.”

Emma laughed. “That’s what I get for being holed up at the studio all the time now.”

“Speaking of”—Phil dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper—“how’s sleeping with the enemy?”

Emma rolled her eyes. “I am neither sleeping with Jo nor is she the enemy. What did she ever do to you anyway?”

“Defending your girlfriend, how cute.”

She glared at him. “Come on, Phil.”

Avery butted in. “You know it’d be less fun to tease you if you didn’t get so upset about it every time.”

“It’s a reasonable thing to get upset about,” Emma said, her voice louder than she’d like it to be. She lowered it. “I don’t want anyone thinking that I am the type to sleep my way into a job, and I don’t want anyone thinking Jo is the type to take advantage of her employees.”

“It doesn’t count as taking advantage if you’re super into it, does it?” Phil said.

“Good point,” Avery said.

Emma sighed. “I regret ever introducing the two of you.”

She didn’t, though, because even if they made fun of her, Phil and Avery also plied her with drinks and made her laugh harder than she had in months. She dragged them both to karaoke to do backup for their props manager, Aly, then spent half the song unable to sing because she was cracking up at Phil’s outrageous dancing.

Afterward, the three of them crowded around a high-top table outside and shared cheesy breadsticks.

“Where’s your girlfriend?” Phil asked. “Don’t you think she’d want some?”

Avery snorted.

“Look,” Emma said sharply. “There’s like—there’s a leak, or something, okay? Like remember when I organized that article about how Jo was gonna do great on Silver and then there was a follow-up about how I organized it?”

Phil was a part of that whole thing, and Emma had relayed the story to Avery in detail, so they both nodded.

“Jo didn’t say anything about it but, like, obviously someone had to leak that, right? Because I wasn’t even the one who talked to the reporter, so like. Someone had to.”

Phil and Avery stared at her with no response.

“So I’m saying don’t call her my girlfriend!” Emma said. “What if the leak overhears?”

“Babe,” Phil said. “Everyone here is definitely too drunk to bother eavesdropping about whether or not you’re sleeping with your boss.”

“Whatever,” Emma scoffed. “Get me another drink.”



* * *



—

Later in the night, Avery was putting their names in to sing, and Emma had lost track of Phil. She wandered outside to look for him and spotted Jo and Chantal standing at a high table in the corner of the roof. She grinned and headed over.

“Ms. Jones, I’ve signed you up to sing ‘Love Is a Battlefield,’” Emma said as she approached. “I think you’re up after Holly.”

Emma hadn’t, of course. She liked teasing Jo, but she didn’t want her boss to kill her. Jo offered a smile and a roll of her eyes. Emma couldn’t help but giggle. She knew she was tipsy. Perhaps more than tipsy.

Chantal cleared her throat. “I’m going to get another drink,” she said.

Emma wanted to tell her she didn’t have to go. Emma liked to think everyone on set knew she and Jo weren’t together. They should’ve known. But then something happened like Phil made fun of her for sleeping with the enemy or Chantal excused herself when Emma came over.

Jo sighed. “Ms. Kaplan,” she said. “Enjoying yourself?”

“I am. Are you?”

Emma wasn’t asking to be polite; she wanted to know.

“Wrap parties are always enjoyable,” Jo hedged.

Emma’s smile turned into a frown. “Ms. Jones.”

“I think you get to call me Jo at a party,” Jo said, like she hadn’t just called Emma Ms. Kaplan.

“Boss,” Emma said instead. “I was really proud you—or well, we, like, the show—won the GLAAD award. I didn’t really say anything but I was. And your speech was really wonderful. But also, like—” She looked at her drink, rattled the ice around in her glass. She didn’t know exactly what she wanted to say, but kept talking anyway. “My sister said you looked great and you did but—you didn’t look all that happy. And it’s probably stupid but I thought about the SAG Awards and I kind of wished I was there at the GLAADs. I thought maybe I could make you smile, is all. Sometimes I don’t think you smile enough.”