Something to Talk About(49)

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.”