The Balance Thing (15 page)

“It is not!” I looked at the drawing. It was Josh's original pencil sketch, unaltered by either Donovan's ink or Jeremy's animation. Vladima was rearing back to strike, standing tall over her victim, strong and fearless and gorgeous with her waving dark hair and flashing eyes. “It's so not me.”

Max sighed. “All right. This is pointless. But at least we got it over with, so now we can talk about me.”

“Fine.”

“Good. Do you still have Shayla's number?”

“I think so. But I haven't seen her since we got back from the wedding. Why? Do I need another makeover?”

“We're talking about me, remember? I'm wondering how much she might know about the proper application of feathered eyelashes.”

“Oh…”

So we had a lengthy conversation about everything from glitter to boas to body paint while devouring really good curry. But all the while a phrase kept repeating itself in my head.

Josh? No way. That would ruin everything.

A
s it turned out, Shayla did know a lot about false eyelashes (feathered and otherwise) and she was happy to help Max and his partners in theatrical crime with their stage makeup on the night of the show. Not that the cast of four semiprofessional quasi–drag queens needed much help, but they appreciated her enthusiasm.

I'd been running late all day, and I met up with Connie and Ian on the sidewalk outside the theater. “Have you talked to Vida?” Connie asked in greeting.

“My cell phone battery died,” I told her. “Why? What's up?”

Connie looked over my shoulder and grinned. “She's bringing a date.”

A
date
? Vida? I turned and saw her talking animatedly with some guy as they waked toward us. When he got closer, I thought he looked vaguely familiar. But it wasn't until he spoke that I recognized him.

“Dude!” he said delightedly.

“Tim!” I pulled his name out of the air just in time. Tim, who was Vida's surfing-and-work buddy. Oh, well, then it probably wasn't a date. It was just Tim.

Introductions were made, and Ian was just saying something about going in when Vida's eyes widened as she focused on someone behind me. “Josh!”

Josh?
She'd only met him once or twice, so she was probably—

“Hi,” I heard his voice, low and close to my ear, and got a little disoriented. Like when you see someone from your hometown while you're away on vacation and the context is wrong.

I turned. Yep, it was Josh.

Vida was introducing him to Tim and then he was congratulating Connie and Ian on their wedding, and they were saying how nice it was to finally meet him, and then he turned to me.

“Hey, Becks,” he said softly, “Max invited me. I hope you don't mind.”

There was something about the way he was looking at me, waiting or watching for I didn't know what, that caught my reply in my throat. Vida slapped me on the back to dislodge it.

“No, hey, great. Good to see you.” I nodded. “We should go in.”

So I could kill Max.

 

ALL THE OTHER BACKERS
of the
Follies
, like Max, had real careers—dentist, lawyer, investment banker, and accountant—but even if their mothers had made them go to college, their hearts still belonged to Broadway. Or at least to a fifty-seat hall behind the Trinity Episcopal church.

The production was heavy on show tunes, with the lyrics
rewritten to include witty commentary on everything from the latest ballot initiative to the mayor's sex life.

In addition to the production numbers, there were a few skits, some improv, and a horrifying attempt at audience participation that involved a woman of a certain age seated in the front row, who would probably never be able to wear her wig in public again.

But aside from that, the whole thing came off without a hitch.

A quick surreptitious look to my left revealed Josh convulsed in laughter during a number about venture capitalists during the dot-com boom, sung to the tune of “La Vie Boheme.”

Ian, on the other hand, looked a little confused.

 

AFTER THE SHOW,
the cast went off to a party at the End Up, and the rest of the investors tagged along with them, but Max said he'd rather hang out with “the little people.” He met us out on the sidewalk after the show, dragging a breathless Shayla along behind him and greeting us modestly with “How fabulous was it and where are we going for drinks?”

Comments were exchanged to the effect of “Very fabulous and we haven't decided yet.”

Tim suggested a place out by Ocean Beach, but we decided it was too far away. Ian suggested the Irish Bank, but Max said he couldn't handle the tedium of the financial district set after the glitter of an opening night. Then Josh made my jaw drop when he suggested Martuni's.

Connie shouted “Perfect!” at the exact moment Ian
yelled “No!”—which didn't bode well for the rest of the evening.

“I know,” Vida broke the awkward pause. “The Lush Lounge.”

“Brilliant,” Connie said, giving Ian a we'll-talk-later-in-the-car look.

The Lush was a sort of shabby-chic retro-something place that had the added advantage of being within walking distance, so we set out.

We formed into clumps of two, with Max and Shayla in the lead, discussing every detail of the show. They were followed by Tim and Vida—arm in arm, so maybe it was a date after all—and a dangerously silent Connie and Ian. That left me and Josh to bring up the rear.

I rummaged around in my brain for something to say to him, and all I came up with was “What did you think of the show?”

He shot me a sideways grin. “I think I'm required to say it was fabulous.”

“You catch on quick.”

“I was kind of surprised when Max invited me.”

Uh-huh. I planned to corner Max at my earliest opportunity and have a little chat with him about that. “I was kind of surprised to see you,” I admitted. “When did Max invite you?”

“This afternoon. I was trying to find you at every number I could think of, and I finally reached Max. He didn't know where you were, but he asked me to come see the show.”

I noticed Josh didn't come out and ask me where I'd been all day. Which was just as well, because for most of the afternoon I'd been facedown on a massage table at Spa Radiance.

Who could have predicted that the most significant thing to happen to me in England would have been my introduction to spa pampering? But I was now officially addicted. When Josh was talking to Max, I had probably been soaking my toes in a lavender-and-rose-petal-infused milk bath.

“Why were you trying to call me?” I asked him.

He grinned again. “It can wait.”

Okay. So what else could we talk about? “I didn't know you liked Martuni's,” I tried.

We'd just reached the Lush, and Josh held the door open, which provided him with the opportunity to give me one of those unnerving looks of his. “We'll just add that to the very long list of things you don't know about me.”

Which, for some reason, made my lavender-and-rose-petal-infused toes start to tingle.

This was not good.

 

“TIM?”

Vida and I were in the ladies' room, and it was the first chance I'd gotten to grill her about her date—for a date it was.

She held up her hand for me to high-five her. “Tim!”
Smack
. “Isn't that the weirdest? I mean, one minute we've got our heads together debugging this wicked memory leak, and the next minute he's telling me he's had a crush on me for ages.”

“Don't tell me, let me guess,” Connie spoke up from the stall. “The next minute you were making out on the conference room table.”

“No way,” Vida protested. “We broke into the VP's office. She has a couch.” She giggled.

“You like him?” I said dubiously. Then I remembered how supportive friends behave. “I mean—you like him!” With enthusiasm this time.

But I still found it hard to believe. In my experience, when a guy you've known and worked with for ages suddenly breaks down and confesses his long-term crush on you, the best strategy is a quick exit and a firm follow-up e-mail.

Not so for Vida, who was nodding vigorously. “I totally like him. I always have. But I didn't realize I was
into
him until he made a move, and then it just hit me, and I was
so
into him.” She beamed.

Connie joined us at the mirror. “Sounds like she's got it bad, Becks. What do you think?”

What could I say?

“Thank God for wicked memory leaks.”

 

BACK AT THE TABLE,
Shayla was holding the attention of the men in the palm of her hand. Actually, she was holding a quarter in the palm of her hand, but since she was demonstrating her ability to flip it upward and make it land perfectly wedged between her impressive breasts, it's safe to say she had the market on male attention pretty much cornered.

“I don't understand it,” Max whispered to me as I sat down. “I don't even like those things, and still I can't look away.”

Josh was missing, but he returned soon after we did and
sat next to me. He took in Shayla's bar trick and shot me a grin. “I usually don't go in for matchmaking, but we just have to fix this girl up with Jeremy.”

I choked on my mojito. “You're right,” I told him. “She's perfect.” And then it hit me. I grabbed Josh's arm. “Josh, she's perfect for Vladima!”

The exuberant makeup artist was making Tim blush furiously and Vida giggle uncontrollably by demanding that he pluck the magic quarter out from her low-cut dress. Then she looked over toward me. “What?” she asked. “What's with you two?”

“Shayla,” Josh said seriously. “No pressure here, but have you ever considered wearing a long black wig?”

She grinned. “Honey, if that's what you want, you got it.”

At which point Josh blushed. Which pleased me for some reason.

“Shayla,” I said. “You don't know it yet, but you've just been discovered.”

She laughed and fished the quarter out. “Okeydokey.”

 

I'D TAKEN A CAB
to the show because I'd known there would be drinking afterward, but I noticed Josh had only one beer, so when he offered me a lift home, I took it.

When he'd parked outside my building, he shut off the engine and walked me to the door, looking as if he wanted to say something. I ransacked my purse for my keys.

“Becks?”

He kept fighting back this smile, and since I didn't know why he was smiling, it was just the slightest bit unsettling. I thought up a brilliant reply.

“Yeah?”

“Do you want me to tell you why I was going nuts trying to find you all afternoon?”

Oh, so he wasn't going to follow Tim's example and confess to a giant crush on me. Whew. That was good news. That was probably good news. Was that good news? How much had I had to drink?

“Becks?”

“Oh. Yeah. Tell me.”

He unleashed the smile. “I got a call today.”

“Oh?” From his ex? Wanting to get back together? Why did that pop into my head?

“From…?”

“From a guy named Alan Turnbottom.”

So probably not his ex. “Alan Turnbottom?”

Josh nodded, doing that trick of his, where he looks at me so I can't look away. “He's an exec at Fox.”

“Fox?” I echoed. That was nice. Wait a minute…“Fox as in the movie studio?”

Josh nodded, and the wattage on the smile went up a notch. “Fox.”

“Fox?”

“They want to talk about making a Vladima movie.”

He watched me carefully for a reaction, but as I'd completely frozen, he didn't get one. After a moment, he took the keys from my hand, unlocked the door, and pushed me gently into the lobby. Then he leaned against the open doorway. “You okay?”

I looked at him.

Josh. Real. Not a dream.

“I'm fine.”

Fox. Real. Not a dream.

He reached out slowly and moved a stray strand of hair off my face. “You did it, Becks.”

Then he was gone, and I was blinking under the fluorescent lights of the lobby, staring at a wall of mailboxes and telling myself I did
not
wish he'd stayed.

I
woke to the sound of Josh's voice, but that was only because when I rolled over to hit the snooze button, I hit
PLAY
on my answering machine instead.

Over the course of four messages, Josh dropped enticing hints about the possible movie deal and offered vague inducements to call him back immediately. I resolved never to let my cell phone battery die again. His last message informed me that he'd spoken to Max and he'd see me at the show. If I had come home to change after my spa day, I wouldn't have been so completely blindsided by his appearance at the theater. And I probably would have worn a better outfit.

Now why did I think that? But I didn't have time to wonder about it because the next voice on the machine sucked every other thought out of my brain. It wasn't who was calling, it was what he said.

“This is Joe Elliot for Rebecca Mansfield. Rebecca, I'm head of Marketing for WorldWired, and I've been hearing some great things about you. I'd like you to give me a call if you're interested in exploring a fairly high-level opportunity. And if you're not interested, call me anyway and I'll talk you into it.”

At this, the voice chuckled and left a local number.

I sat up in bed and reached to make sure my head was still on. WorldWired. The foremost telecommunications firm on the planet. The leader in global wireless communications strategies. The hottest company on every list of hot companies in every hot magazine.

And they wanted me.

I took a minute to jump out of bed and dance around singing “They want me, they want me, they want me” until I saw my reflection in the mirror and realized that big cheese executive types who held high-level positions at WorldWired probably didn't compromise their pre-breakfast dignity by doing the twist in their pony-print jammies.

How could this have happened? Who did I know at WorldWired—or, more important, who knew me? Who could have put in a good word with that charming and obviously brilliant Joe Elliot? Someone I'd worked with in the past must have gone there recently and—

And then it hit me. I sank back onto the bed. I did know someone at WorldWired. I knew their corporate spokesman. The Olympic champion, soccer star, and closeted lover of my oldest friend. I knew Phillip Hastings.

I picked up the phone and dialed. “Max? You darling, darling man. Put the coffee on. I'll be there in thirty minutes.”

 

VIDA OPENED MAX'S DOOR
. “What's going on?”

I looked beyond her to Max in the kitchen. “I called Vida,” he explained. “With the amount I had to drink last night I didn't think I could handle your level of excitement without reinforcements. Now come have some coffee and tell us what's got you so energized at this ungodly hour.”

Vida looked at her watch as I came in. “Maxie, it's ten o'clock. I mean, I'm supposedly telecommuting, but don't you have patients or something?”

He tightened the belt on his bathrobe and gave her a wounded look. “Did you forget about last night already? I cancelled all my appointments today so I could stay home and read the reviews of last night's theatrical triumph.”

“Oh.” Vida gave me a “whoops” look. “How are they?”

He gestured to a crumpled copy of the
Noe Valley Voice
in his trash can. “I don't want to discuss it.” His gaze turned back to me. “Becks, you look like hell. Did you even dry your hair this morning?”

I hadn't. I'd jumped in and out of the shower and tossed on the most convenient clothes in my closet. Then I'd rushed right over, ignoring the fact that if I didn't blow my hair dry, it inevitably curled into a wild mess.

“Who cares about my hair,” I trilled, “when I have news this good?” I took the mug Max held and plopped myself down at his table, pausing only to plant a kiss on his forehead. “And when I have friends this fabulous?”

They both looked baffled. Vida asked the obvious question. “Huh?”

I told them about the call from Joe Elliot at WorldWired. They both made very gratifying squealing sounds, but neither of them looked particularly self-satisfied about it.

“Come on,” I said. “Which one of you asked Phillip to say something?”

“Phillip?” Vida contracted her brows.

“Phillip. As in Phillip Hastings, the spokesman for WorldWired and your best new buddy from the wedding?”

“Wow,” Vida said. “You really think he had something to do with this?”

“Who else?”

“Wow,” she repeated. Then she shook her head. “But, Becks, I'm pretty sure we never talked about work stuff. I mean, I told him what I did, but I never talked about you looking for a job.” She looked doubtful, as if she was searching her memory. Then she shook her head again. “No, I'm sure I didn't.”

We both looked at Max, who was steaming his pores over a cup of Costa Rica's finest. “What?” He looked up. “You think I spent my valuable pillow-talk time discussing your stalled career?”

“Maxie, you're an absolute sweetheart. I don't care what anyone else says.” I beamed.

“Becks.” He took my mug and held both of my hands, looking a little haggard but completely honest. “There are many, many extremely good reasons to have sex with Phillip Hastings. But getting you a job is not one of them.”

“I'm not suggesting you prostituted yourself on my behalf,” I explained. “I just don't know why in the world Phillip would have said something about me to WorldWired when I never talked to him about work and he had no reason to do me any favors.”

“Are you sure it was him?” Vida asked. “I mean, it's a big company…”

“I don't know anyone else there,” I insisted. “It had to have been him.”

“Well, maybe it was,” Vida admitted. “But not because of anything Max or I said.”

Then who?

“You don't suppose…” Vida hesitated. She looked at Max.

“Overcome with remorse for behaving like such a schmuck”—Max's eyes widened as he picked up on her thought—“the Lord of the Manor has tried to make amends?”

The both turned to me.

Absolutely not. I refused to believe Sir Vile Excrescence had done me any favors whatsoever. “No,” I said firmly. “No way.”

“Of course not,” Vida agreed. “That's crazy. He wasn't even real friends with Phillip, remember? It was Trinny—” She snapped her jaw shut and winced. “Sorry.”

“Uh-huh,” I said. “I think we can be pretty sure neither of them would be very interested in doing me any favors.”

We all thought it over silently for a minute.

“I suppose,” concluded Vida, “there's no way of knowing until you call them back.”

“Have you called them back?” Max asked.

“I didn't want to look too eager. I thought I'd give it until this afternoon.”

“Becks, this sounds like it could be the job you've been lusting after for your entire working life. Do you really think you should play hard to get?”

Max answered for me. “It may take until this afternoon for her to calm down enough to set up an interview without sounding like a work-starved lunatic.”

And with that, suddenly, I didn't care who had suggested me to the delightful Joe Elliot of WorldWired. Because whoever it had been, it had worked. I was getting an interview.

I felt another dance coming on, but before I could jump around the kitchen, Max asked a particularly disturbing question.

“What did Josh say about it?”

Shit…Josh…Vladima…Fox…Shit.

Vida was looking at me narrowly. “Becks, you're not just going to ditch Josh, are you?”

“Of course not.” But it probably wasn't a good sign that I'd forgotten all about him and the movie deal the minute I'd heard Joe Elliot's voice. “Of course not,” I repeated. “Especially now.” I told them about Fox's interest in Vladima and was rewarded with the morning's second round of excited shrieks.

They had a thousand questions, and I had exactly one answer. “I don't know anything else.” I told them. I checked my watch. “But Josh scheduled a meeting for noon.” Which had been the very last message on my machine. “I suppose I'll hear all about it then.”

 

I WENT
to the nearest coffee joint and settled in with a latte and a lemon scone, pretending to watch the dog owners in Dolores Park while trying to figure out exactly how I was going to handle telling WorldWired that I had this commitment to a cartoon vampire. Somehow, that didn't seem as nerve-wracking as telling Josh about WorldWired.

I kept reassuring myself that everything was going to be fine. If Fox was serious about making a Vladima movie, I could stick around until the deal was finalized, right? I could get everything squared away before making the transition. I mean, WorldWired probably wouldn't expect me to start immediately. And, to be realistic, I hadn't even gotten a job offer yet. But, barring any bitter ex-employees who'd pop up
at the eleventh hour to accuse me of being a bitch, I probably would.

Why did I feel like gagging when I thought about telling Josh I was dumping him? I mean, not dumping him, but dumping Vladima. Actually, not dumping anybody, just making a simple and straightforward career move. And not even doing that until I'd fulfilled my commitments.

So why did my chest get all tight when I thought about not working with Vladima and the minions anymore? I'd gotten to be rather fond of the collection of dedicated weirdoes. I'd even gotten to be fond of the immortal vamp herself. I shredded my napkin into neat, precise strips and mentally rejected any possibility that I might also be fond of Josh.

No, the only reason I felt the slightest bit conflicted about talking to WorldWired is that I'd made a professional commitment to help Josh with Vladima's marketing. And really, with a movie in the near future, my work there was done. Besides, I'd never meant it to be anything other than a way to stay busy until a real job came along. A real job such as a high-level position at WorldWired, for example.

I gulped the last of the coffee and headed for the studio.

 

VLADIMA'S PAD
was in chaos. Josh had planned on telling the minions all at once, in a pizza meeting at noon in the break room. But a call from the Fox exec Alan Turnbottom had been answered by Alice, the part-time office manager, and she'd whispered excitedly to Donovan, and he'd
said something to Jeremy, and by the time I got there the place was a madhouse.

Josh was standing on someone's desk in the field of cubicles, looking like a mad conductor whose orchestra was running amok. It was clear he had zero chance of bringing the group under control.

Suddenly, as I was swept into the bedlam, there was an unholy, earth-shattering, earsplitting scream. The anarchy ground to a halt, and everyone looked around to see what the hell had just happened.

“Sorry!” Raven's cheerful voice called out. “But it was the only way I could think of to shut you all up so we can hear what Josh is trying to say.” The tiny sound engineer grinned mischievously. “And by the way, that's the new shriek for the
ENTER
button on the Web site.” She tried to look modest.

“Thanks, Raven,” Josh said. “I think it works. Now will everybody just come grab some pizza so we can talk about this like normal people?”

The meeting didn't last very long because really there wasn't much to say. Josh had accepted an “exploratory lunch meeting” with Alan Turnbottom for Monday, which meant we'd all have a long weekend before we even knew if anything was likely to happen.

But the minions didn't let that get in the way of their wild excitement or their paranoid fears. The tantalizing possibilities of fame and fortune were mixed with large doses of justifiable apprehension.

“Suppose they do something stupid, like cast Anna Nicole or something?”

Which led to a heated debate on the relative talents of
that lady and every other well-endowed actress in Hollywood. The overwhelming consensus was that only Angelina Jolie was worthy to play Vladima.

“Or suppose they want to turn it into some stupid kid's cartoon?”

Fear of the stupid seemed to be the major theme of the objections.

Josh finally called a halt to the speculation and sent everyone home for the day. It was Friday afternoon, and there was no way anything useful could be accomplished with the state they were all in.

“Listen,” he said, “Becks and I are going to talk to this guy on Monday, and we're not going to let them do anything stupid, okay? Now just chill.”

They chilled. Or at least they drifted off.

I, on the other hand, caved. After everyone had gone but Josh and me, when it would have been the perfect time to tell him about WorldWired, I couldn't do it. I tried to bring up the subject, but my words kept turning around and running away before I'd actually said anything.

Eventually I noticed that Josh was looking at me as if he were afraid I was about to sprout a second head. “Are you all right?”

I nodded. “Fine.” I swallowed hard.

He sat on the table and faced me. “Should we talk about this?”

This? Oh, the movie. I shook my head. “Nothing to talk about until we hear what they have to say, right?”

He nodded, still looking at me. “Becks—”

Who knows what he was going to say? All I knew is that I had to get out of there. For one horrible moment
I thought I was going to tear up if I had to look him in the eye.

“Josh, I've really got to go, you know? Give me a call over the weekend if you find out anything more, okay? Bye.”

I ran away, too gutless to look back.

An hour later I called Joe Elliot's office and scheduled an interview for Wednesday.