Mr. 365 (30 page)

When I get Rachel on the phone and tell her about Will’s call, it’s as if I don’t know who I’m talking to. She’s short-tempered and impatient with me as if she can’t believe I’m questioning her. It doesn’t bother her in the slightest that I knew nothing about what happened.

Of course, it doesn’t
, I think.
She must be behind it.

“Why are you worried about this? You need to focus on your current project, not what’s already finished,” Rachel snaps.

“I’m worried because the ad that came out today makes the show look like a parody on people who love the holidays. That isn’t the show I am producing, and that isn’t what I promised these people.”

“And therein lies the issue. Why do you think we finished that episode without you? It sounds like you care more about keeping him happy than doing what’s best for the production. You got
way
too interested in Mr. Christmas, didn’t you?”

“Yes, we’re friends, but I fail to see what that has to do with this matter.”

“It has everything to do with it. We decided to change our point of view somewhat after viewing the footage. Part of that decision was what we got on camera. The other part was the kind of clients we’d secured for future episodes.”

“You did change direction and didn’t tell me!”

“We did, and it’s not the first time or the last we’ll do it. Our top priority is always to make the most compelling show we can. This is entertainment television, not educational dreck. Did you forget that?”

“No, of course not,” I say.

“And furthermore, from what I hear from the team, you are a lot more than
friends
with Mr. Christmas.”

Thanks team, for throwing me under the bus,
I think as I silently steam.

“You know that according to your contract, that’s a no-no. And now you can see why,” Rachel adds.

“So are you going to fire me?”

“Don’t be dramatic. I’m just making a point.”

I think about it for a moment. “How would you prove the nature of our relationship anyway—put a camera on us and turn it into an exploitive reality show?”

“Check yourself, girl. I thought you liked your job.” Rachel warns me, and I know I’m close to stepping over the line.

“I thought so too,” I say glumly.

“Well, I’m sure you like your pay and
having
a job. So get your head on straight and take care of business.”

I want to scream at Rachel, but I fight to keep my cool or I won’t have a chance in hell to fix this. I try a different tactic.

“Rachel, we’re just going to screw Will and make him a laughing stock? He’s such a good guy. Can’t we be better than that? I’m begging you to help me fix this wrong before it ruins him.”

“Sorry, no can do. He may be mad now, but he’ll get over it. If he’s really into you, both of you will laugh about it one day.”

I seriously doubt that
, I think silently. It’s hard to laugh with someone when they’ve shut you out of their life.

I end the call and I hang my head while tears fill my eyes. Even if Rachel agreed with me, there would be no way to fix the show at this late date. Not only does the possibility of losing Will make me heart sick, but the harsh reality of the lack of ethics in my line of work is glaring in my mind like a neon sign.

When I went to film school, I had the most noble of intentions to make documentaries and right the wrongs of the world. I think back on my conversation with Will about documentaries and my path. He was right all along about reality TV. Instead of making a positive difference, I’m doing work that creates problems, rather than solving them. The resulting gloom makes me feel lower than pond scum.

I’m moments away from crawling under a rock when I have a wave of inspiration.
What if they just cancel the show completely?
As much as I know that would never happen, I’m desperate enough to try. I pick up my phone and call George, the big boss.

“George Starrett’s office,” his assistant Janice answers.

“Hi Janice, it’s Sophia, one of the producers on Rachel’s team. I was hoping I could speak with George.”

“Oh, hi hon. You’re part of the team doing the new holiday show, right?” says Janice, her voice softening.

“Yes, that’s actually what I wanted to talk to George about.”

“Let me tell you. I saw the ad for the show a few days ago when it came in for approvals. It looks like a riot! Congratulations! I’m hearing great stuff about it.”

“Uh, thanks. So, is George available?” I ask hesitantly.

“He’s on his way to New York for a big meeting with our sponsors. I doubt he’ll be back in the office before Thanksgiving. Can I leave him a message?”

“No, that will be too late,” I say, feeling ill. “Does he read e-mails?”

“I read them and only forward what’s important. Is something wrong, dear?”

“Well, I have a serious concern about the Christmas show I was hoping to discuss with him.”

“That’s really something you should work out with Rachel,” she says in a maternal tone.

Why is it executive assistants sometimes think they’re running the company?

I scrunch up my face and grip the phone harder. “I didn’t really get anywhere with Rachel.”

“I see… And you hope you might with George.”

“Yes,” I say, breathing a sigh of relief.

“George will most likely defer to Rachel. He has a lot of respect for her. I’ll let him know you want to talk to him, but you should be prepared that it may be futile. He doesn’t like to get involved with these types of issues.”

My heart sinks. “Yes, I understand… I just hope he gives me a chance to make my case. It’s really important to me and, I believe, to the company.”

“Okay, I’ll tell him. Is this the number he should reach you at?”

“Yes, thank you so much, Janice.”

As I set my phone down, the truth hits me hard; I can’t change anything. I bend over and the tears fall fast. I know I’m going to lose Will over this. How could I have been so cavalier about the studio’s intentions? I acted like a novice, never taking control of the show like an experienced producer should have. Will gave me his trust and I’ve destroyed it.

I curl into a tight ball on my hotel bed and let the tears fall until I feel raw all over. I cry as I remember what we were, and torture myself imagining what we could’ve been. My extreme self-flagellation provides a proper beginning to what I imagine to be the season of darkness looming ahead of me.

Just the idea of spending Thanksgiving in some anonymous Massachusetts hotel room while Will is at home tossing his memories of me into a roaring bonfire is enough to make me crack like an abandoned Easter egg.

When Will answers his phone, he sounds angry and any courage I had mustered up before the call, disappears.

“Sophia?” he asks when I don’t say anything.

“We’re over, aren’t we?” I ask, surprising even myself that I went there.

This time he’s silent for the longest moment of my life.

“You can’t fix it, can you,” he says, his tone starting to ice over.

“I don’t think I can,” I say softly.

“Wow. There you go. You’re easy on the promises and short on the fixing.”

“I tried, Will.”

“Evidently not hard enough.”

“I don’t blame you for hating me. I’d probably hate me too if I were in your shoes,” I say, defeated.

“I would’ve never given you the chance to.”

“Noted,” I say right before a sob escapes, and I can’t hold back the tears.

“Look, I’ve got to go. I can’t talk to you right now. I’ve got to figure out what I’m going to do.”

I almost don’t recognize his voice. It sounds empty, as if he’s talking to a stranger.

“All right. I’m so sorry, Will. You have no idea how sorry I am.”

“I’m sorry too… about a lot.”

“I hope one day you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”

“Me too,” he says before hanging up.

I don’t get a call from George, and I stumble through the next few days in a thick haze. I feel like Jane Eyre on the English moor after leaving Rochester. At least Jane Eyre didn’t screw Rochester the way I’ve screwed Will. I flail along internally from sunup to sundown, finally passing out at night, half delirious when exhaustion finally takes me. I almost miss my flight to Boston I’m in such a fog of depression.

Luckily the huge Thanksgiving reenactment shoot is a complete nightmare. Everything goes wrong from the weather to a good chunk of the group coming down with stomach flu. The resulting complications create a powerful distraction from my pain. I work myself hard until I fall asleep late each night while going over notes on my laptop in my room.

Every time I think of Will, my heart shatters again, so I do my best to push him out of my mind. The moments when I slip, like when I see them setting up the Christmas tree in the lobby of my hotel, take my breath away. I even mourn the loss of Romeo, crying when someone walks past me with a dog that looks like him.

I count the hours to when I can leave the hell of this shoot and get home to the hell of my very empty apartment.

As each hour passes during the shoot on Thanksgiving day, my urge to call Will gets stronger and stronger until I finally pick up my phone during a break. When the call goes to voice mail, I end the call without leaving a message.

I kick myself for even trying because now I feel even worse than before, and I didn’t think that was possible. I head back to the set.

“You okay?” Aaron asks after he sets up his camera for the next shot.

I shake my head. “Not really.”

“It’s Will and the show, isn’t it?”

I nod, not hiding my disappointment.

“He’ll come around. Guys are bull-headed, but once we cool off we realize the truth and come around,” Aaron says.

“Yeah, and what’s the truth?”

“That we can’t stand to live without the girl we love.” Aaron nods. He looks like he’s lived through the war zone of love.

“Not to be rude, Aaron, but you’re divorced. Should you really be giving me advice on relationships and how the guy will come around?”

“I’m exactly the right person, because I know what it’s like to have the right woman and then lose her.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound bitchy with my comment.”

He shrugs. “It’s okay. It is what it is. Live and learn.”

“So I shouldn’t give up yet?” I ask hopeful, despite my doubt.

“Just give him some time. Maybe he’ll come around and maybe he won’t, but isn’t it worth waiting some to see?”

I close my eyes and nod. “It
is
worth it.”

T
he next morning I wake up with a sick stomach, knowing today is the day of the show. I try to imagine Will watching it, and I only feel worse.

Miraculously, the copy of the show I requested never arrives. I roll my eyes after hanging up with the hotel’s front desk manager. Thanks to my sarcastic and angry state, I’m sure this isn’t a technical or delivery issue. The studio is making sure that I have to see it in real time with the rest of our viewers.

Just after lunch another wave of anxiety hits, and it gives me an idea. An old friend of mine, Erika, lives in Baltimore with her husband. We’ve remained friends and touch base once in a while. She and her husband always have the day after Thanksgiving off, and there are two broadcasts of the show today, one earlier while I’m still at work. Maybe she can watch the early broadcast and let me know if it’s better than I fear, or if it really sucks. Luckily she picks up the phone on the second ring.

She gets a kick hearing that I’ve switched from cooking shows, and she’s delighted that I worked on a Christmas show since she knows how much I love that holiday.

Unfortunately I have to share that the situation isn’t as rosy as I’d hoped. I explain that I’m worried the studio took over the project and made the subject look like a fool, that we’ve become close and I’m worried what this will do to him.

She promises that she and her husband, Liam, will call with an honest assessment after they watch the show.