Monsters (10 page)

“So,” Jason says finally, looking from me to Tommy and back again, “if I understand correctly why we're here today, it's that Stacey isn't happy with the changes to the script.”

“Can't say I'm totally sold either, brother,” Tommy says, but the expression on Jason's face makes him hold his hand up and add, “No, no. I haven't made my mind up. I'm here to be convinced.” He looks totally sincere about it, but he'd better be acting.

“Goddamn it,” Jason says, and he looks at me. “You know it's not that big of a change. It's one scene.”

“Jason”—I keep my voice soft, but I hold his gaze with mine—“you say that like that scene isn't important, and if it wasn't important, you wouldn't be trying to change it.”

“Look, I'm not saying your way wasn't right for the book. It was great. It was artsy. It was perfect. But we're trying to sell a movie here. We can't push the envelope as far.” He looks back at Tommy. “I mean, I think we're already pushing it, but you know, people go to poetry to expand their minds and shit. They go to movies to be entertained.”

Tommy nods, and if he was close enough, I'd kick him for it.

“I think you know,” Jason goes on, still talking to Tommy, “I'm willing to go to some pretty dark places, but the ending to this thing isn't even dark, it's fucking bleak. It makes me want to blow my brains out, you know.”

“Gee, thanks,” I say.

He turns back to me. “Look, it's different on the page. You have some distance, some space to digest it. In the theater, across this giant screen, with the music and the lighting and the whole experience of it, I just don't think we have to go as far.” He sighs.

Joe cuts in. “Seriously, we're just looking to cut the one scene. One scene, Stacey. One fucking scene.”

“I can actually read and count, Joe, but thanks for clarifying.”

“Stace,” Tommy says, and he gives me this look like,
Be cool.
“Come on, we're all on the same team here.” Which is bullshit, we absolutely are not, but he had damn well better be on mine.

•   •   •

We go back and forth half the morning. I can tell Jason is wearing down, but Joe keeps digging his heels in. Such an ass. He's got no dog in this fight. Just before lunch, Tommy and Jason have a call, so they duck into the study and leave me alone with Joe.

They've barely closed the door when Joe says, “Seems you had plenty of time to work Tommy over before we even got here. Didn't you get in last night?”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing at all, Stacey. Nothing at all. Although if I could go to a meeting with my tits hanging out, I probably wouldn't have to work so hard either.”

“Are you that scared of me, Joe? Is the possibility that maybe I could be right so terrifying that you have to turn this all into some sexist bullshit?”

“You trying to tell me that you're not willing to fuck whoever you need to to get your way? 'Cause we can all see the type of woman you are.”

“The type of woman I am, Joe, is not stupid enough to think that Tommy DeMarco gets laid so infrequently that a blow job or a nice pair of tits is going to change his position on a multimillion-dollar decision. If you think that's why Tommy listens to me, you're high or delusional.”

It's true. I don't think that's why Tommy listens to me, but I feel like we're dancing way too close to something, so I just throw my hands up and say, “I can't be in a room with you. Misogynistic piece of shit.”

I stand up and walk straight down the hallway to the front door and out into the sunlight. It's chilly, but not like Nebraska. I won't need a jacket. There's a stacked stone wall that flanks the sidewalk leading down to the driveway. I sit on it, lean my elbows on my knees, drop my head into my hands. I feel sick. My stomach is in knots from all the stress and the coffee. I probably should have eaten something. I should have had some fruit. I hear the door creak open, but I don't look up.

“You okay?” It's Daniel.

I raise my head and smile at him. “I just hate Joe. I'm okay though.”

He sits down next to me, pats my hand. “And how are you handling this shit with Tommy?”

“Is this in your job description? Girls crying on your shoulder?”

“Usually, yeah.”

I lean my head against him and he wraps his arm around my shoulders. He feels warm and the shirt he's wearing is soft. I don't know why this makes me feel like maybe I am going to cry.

“I would quit that job,” I say.

Daniel laughs. “No. Tommy's pretty great to me. I don't get a lot of time off, but you should see my paychecks. He's just . . . I don't know. He's a very popular guy, but he's pretty isolated. And the thing is, honey, he's used to it, and he's gotten to like it that way.” He squeezes my arm. “I just don't want to see you get hurt.”

“I am so far past hurt these days. I am just so far past it.”

He sighs, leans his head against mine. “Well, if you're looking for a distraction, Tommy is pretty distracting. Just don't let him get you all spun out. He can come off all romantic lead, but, you know, he doesn't usually mean it.” He squeezes his fingers into my shoulder again, and again I feel like I could cry. “Did you get anything to eat?”

“No,” I say, “and I'm starving.” This is not a lie. I feel a little woozy.

Daniel loops his arm through mine and pulls me to my feet. “Come on. Lunch is ready as soon as they're off that call, but I can grab you something.”

•   •   •

There's a basket of rolls out on the counter, and Daniel pulls one out. “Whole-grain?” he says, and I say, “Lovely.”

I tear a piece off and put it in my mouth, chew it slowly. I lean back against the counter and look out across the room. Joe is still at the couch, but he has his laptop out now, and he doesn't look up. I glare at him anyway.

“I've got to go take care of a few things,” Daniel says. “You good?”

“Perfect,” I say. I pinch another bite of bread between my fingers and twist it free, roll it across my tongue. The door to the study opens, and Tommy walks out. Jason follows behind him and walks straight to the couch, but Tommy comes toward me.

“Hey,” he says, walking around the island to where I am. “You look pissed.”

“Joe's a dick.” It's a big room, but I say it quietly, almost under my breath.

“I knew that,” he says. “Why now?”

“He thinks I'm sleeping with you to get my way with the script.”

“You told him you're sleeping with me?” He seems a little annoyed. It makes sense. I'm sure a lot of girls brag about it, which is ridiculous because as far as I can tell, it's pretty easily accomplished just by proximity.

I tear off another piece of the roll, pop it in my mouth. “You really think I'd want anyone to know?”

He scowls like I've offended him, but underneath it he looks relieved.

“He just thinks that as a woman, the only thing of value I can contribute is a vagina.”

“Well, that's obvious, isn't it?” He opens the cabinet to the right of me and takes down a glass. “You want water?” he says. I nod, and he takes down another. “So what did you say?”

“I told him that I think you probably get laid often enough that you wouldn't be easily swayed by a blow job.”

It's good that he hasn't taken a drink of the water yet, because he nearly spits. “Fuck, Stacey.” He's still laughing as he fills both glasses and hands me one. “Maybe we should back up though. Just how good is this blow job?”

“Shut up.”

He lowers his voice a little. “You know none of that has any bearing on how I see your work or what I think is right for the movie, right?”

“It doesn't matter. The minute someone like Joe finds out, all the work I've put into this gets dismissed.”

“Joe is not on my list of confidants, so I don't think you need to worry about him finding out, and shit, even if he did, you're brilliant, Stacey, you're super fucking talented. You're not that easy to dismiss.”

I don't answer him. Tommy leans against the counter, looks back over his shoulder toward the two of them sitting at the fireplace.

“You might still have to sleep with Jason though,” he says, turning back to me.

“Fuck you. Christ, you're as bad as Joe.”

“Nah,” he says, shaking his head, “I'm nothing like Joe. Joe is an asshole. Me? I give you everything you want.”

•   •   •

I do actually get everything I want—from Jason too. He promises to rework the ending to stay more “true to the original vision.”

When he says this, I look at Tommy. “I'll drink to that,” I say.

“Hell yeah,” he says, standing up from the couch. “What's everybody having?”

Joe looks at his watch. “I've got to head out. Ex is dropping the kids off tonight.” He stands up too. “I'll catch you guys later. Stacey, always a pleasure.”

“Isn't it though?” I say, but I don't even try to make my expression friendly. I'm fooling no one.

Tommy follows Joe out toward the front door, and Jason turns to me. “Shall we head to the bar?”

“I'd love to.” I hold my hand out and let him help me up.

“You know, Stacey, for someone with no actual leverage, you're a pretty tough negotiator.”

I just laugh, rest my hand on his arm. “You want to hire me?”

“Maybe for my next divorce settlement,” he says.

“You have one in the works?”

“Nah.” He waves one hand dismissively. “We're very happy, but you know, all good things . . .”

“I love the optimism.”

We reach the bar before Tommy does, and Jason walks behind it to help himself. “What are you having, Stacey?”

“What are you pouring?”

“Scotch,” he says, and I say, “Not that.”

“Stacey's a vodka girl,” Tommy says, walking in behind us, “but I'll take a scotch.”

Jason pours the two scotches and my chilled vodka on ice and lines the glasses up on the bar.

“You have to cut me off after this one,” he says to Tommy. “I'm supposed to go to my daughter's soccer game.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket. “See, Trina's already texting me now. I told her this morning that I'd meet them there.” He starts typing with his thumbs. “That should buy me all of five minutes.” He sets the phone down and picks the scotch back up. “Fucking marriage, right?”

Tommy laughs. “Why you keep roping yourself into it then?”

Jason shrugs. “I'm just a romantic, I guess.” He tosses back the rest of his drink. His phone buzzes again, and he picks it up to check. “She wants to know who you're bringing tomorrow. She's making place cards,” he says to Tommy, and then he turns to me. “My wife's gotten into this whole formal dinner party thing. Boring as death.” He points at Tommy. “But you're coming and you won't tell her I said that. Who's your date?”

The vodka is cold in my hands, but right now, it burns going down.

“Hmm? Uh, Kim,” Tommy says, sliding his glass back and forth across the slick surface of the bar. “Kim Revell.”

Jason whistles. “Nice.
I
or
y
?”

“How would I know?” He takes another drink of the scotch. “Trina can Google it.”

Jason laughs and sets his glass down, shoves his phone in his pocket. “See you tomorrow night, then. And Stacey, I'm looking forward to the next time.” I smile. “No, no,” he says to Tommy, “I can let myself out.”

When the door closes, Tommy looks at me and furrows his eyebrows apologetically. “Sorry about that.”

I look back at my glass, which is emptier than I'd like. “Come on,” I say, and I try to make my voice sound like,
It's nothing.
I think I'm doing pretty well. “I assumed you'd be fucking some actress tomorrow night.” I turn to smile at him like,
See, I don't care.

Tommy smiles back. “She's not an actress,” he says, shaking his head. He finishes the scotch in his glass. “She's a lingerie model.”

“Oh,” I say, and I feel my smile slip. There's nothing I can do about it. “Well, that does suck, then.”

He laughs, and reaches across the bar for the bottle of vodka to refill my glass. “She's not very smart though, so really, you're much hotter.”

“Mmm, that's great,” I say, but I can't seem to get my lips to unpinch themselves.

“How much of this do you want?” Tommy says, starting to pour the vodka.

A lot,
I think.
I want so much.
But of course I don't say that, I say, “Just a touch.”

I
WAKE UP
and look at my phone. Today is one year. Michael has been dead a whole year, and it feels like the longest time. It feels like forever. I walk downstairs, and Bear meets me at the bottom. I scratch his head while I turn off the alarm. When I put him outside, I lean my head against the glass of the back door. It's still winter, and cold. The last week has been nothing but wind. The other night, Stevie showed up in my bed. He said,
It sounds like the house is breaking.
And I said,
No, baby, it isn't.

When Bear comes back, I let him inside. I start my coffee and cut an apple into very thin slices to have for breakfast. I hear the boys upstairs talking, making their morning noises, and I think,
We'll be okay
.
We've made it this
far.