The Balance Thing (20 page)

>
he read you to sleep?

It was four days later and I was on my way home. Actually, I was at JFK sending instant messages to Vida from the laptop.

>
!!!!!!!!!

>
why haven't you called?

>how is stupid work?

I sent it before I even thought about it. I don't think I'd ever said anything bad about a job since I'd gotten my first college internship. Except for the Vladima thing, of course, before I'd developed an appreciation for the undead.

Now Vida pounced on it.

>
then QUIT!

>
seriously!

They hadn't really. I just didn't think I could discuss my
extremely mixed feelings about my new position in the United boarding area over a wireless connection. A connection that was probably, now that I thought of it, provided by WorldWired.

Ugh.

It had all started out manageably enough. The ad agency—KMD—was one of the biggest in the world, and the people we'd met with had been sharp, bright professionals who had actually come up with a campaign that seemed pretty good to me. The team assigned to us consisted of two men and two women who took turns explaining the various facets of the proposed media onslaught.

We of WorldWired met afterward in the back room of another dimly lit restaurant, this one specializing in fish and decorated with lush oil paintings of glistening trout and salmon. Not my kind of joint.

I assumed at some point I'd get a glimpse of the WWHQ, as they referred to the company's reportedly palatial headquarters in midtown, but apparently post-pitch reviews were traditionally held, accompanied by vast quantities of expense-account liquor, “off-campus.”

The meeting had included more people than just those I'd met through Joe Elliot the night before. It had even included a few other women.

“Be careful,” said one. Thalia, I think, although we hadn't been introduced. “
They
can drink themselves into a stupor and boast about it the next morning, but if one of
u
s gets a little tipsy…” She eyed my martini, then gave me a look filled with dark portent about the swift and vicious nature of office gossip.

I paced myself.

At some point amid the predictable posturing among the
guys I'd met the first night, I must have tuned out the conversation. It was probably when one of the guys—Chip? Skip? Kip?—was droning on about targeted market areas. As if he was original or insightful or something.

I was thinking about whether the addition of Dr. Ethan Black would be likely to increase the female Vladima fan base, when I sensed someone looking at me. Everyone, in fact, was looking at me because Joe Elliot had apparently just asked me a question.

Were they still talking about targeted markets? I tried to keep my face neutral while my brain did a series of U-turns. In an attempt to avoid Joe's stare, I looked up at the wall behind him. Then I said the first word that popped into my head.

“Fish.”

A quick check of my new boss's expression showed he clearly expected something more of me. Can I help it if I was distracted by the portrait of a large-mouthed bass hanging over his head?

“Fish?” I heard someone echo.

I nodded, cleared my voice, and said as assertively as I could: “Fish where the fishing is good.”

I looked Joe Elliot in the eye. “It's something my Grand-pop used to say, but it sums up my thinking on targeted markets pretty well.” A complete lie, but one I was willing to commit to.

Joe blinked rapidly, and I held my breath. Then he smiled. “I suppose you'd say we should use the right bait for the right fish as well, wouldn't you?”

Saved. For the rest of the evening the fishing metaphors flew, and I did my best to keep my mind on the conversation.

This was not a good start.

 

“THIS IS THE WORST BAND
I've ever heard in my life.”

I had to agree with Josh's assessment. We'd met Max, Connie, Vida, and Tim at the Hotel Utah on Saturday night to hear a group called Bag O'Cats—a name that did not bode well. The band was fronted by one of Tim's best friends, which was the only possible reason for subjecting ourselves to a truly awful performance involving guitar, bass, drum, and bagpipe (seriously).

Immediately following the first set, Josh said something about desperately needing me to look over a clause in the contract for the movie with Fox, and we fled the joint.

We went to his place, where—much to my surprise—he handed me the Fox contract along with a glass of Pinot.

“I thought you were just making an excuse to get us out of there.”

“I was, but I also want your take on this section.” He pointed to a page he'd flagged. “I've gone over it twenty times and I still can't tell whether it means we need Fox to approve of our plans for Vladima at ComixCon.”

“What?”
I put the wine down and searched through the section.

“It just has me worried because it's so vague about exactly what kinds of things they do or don't get to say something about,” Josh elaborated while I read.

I glanced up at him. “It's vague, but it's lawyer-vague.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning they intentionally left it vague so other lawyers could interpret it in their favor if we do anything that they
weren't foresighted enough to tell us not to do in the first place.” I read over the section again in silence. When I looked over at Josh, he was rubbing his eyes.

He saw me watching him and stopped. “What do you think we should do?”

“You really want my opinion?” I asked.

“Of course I want your opinion. You're my resident genius, remember?”

I thought about it, about a dozen what-if scenarios playing out simultaneously in my mind. “I think we need to bring them in.”

Josh looked a little deflated. “Really?”

I nodded, a plan taking shape. “But not to ask their permission. We'll say that we're doing this major event and launching the printed comic book—”

“They're happy about the book,” Josh interrupted. “I just never brought up the convention because…well, it never came up.”

“It's fine,” I told him. “We'll call Chloe, and tell her what we're doing, and that we're expecting to make a huge splash at the convention, and then we'll make her an offer she can't refuse.”

“Which is?”

“She gets the perfect venue to announce the Vladima movie.”

Josh looked doubtful. “Will she want to announce it? So soon?”

I picked up my glass and raised it in a toast. “She will when I get through with her.”

I took a moment to enjoy the look on Josh's face, then stretched and picked up the contract again.

“Don't do any more reading tonight.” Josh got up and stood behind me so he could rub my shoulders. “You're exhausted. You didn't get much sleep last night, and you really didn't need to spend all day coaching Shayla on her Vladima performance.”

His hands felt fabulous. Just the right amount of pressure in just the right places. “First,” I told him, “I particularly enjoyed the way I didn't get much sleep last night—even though I still say it wasn't necessary for you to pick me up at the airport.”

“I'll pick you up if I want to pick you up,” he said reasonably. “Eventually you'll get used to it. Then we can work on me taking you to the airport.”

“And second,” I continued as if he hadn't spoken, “I enjoyed the day with Shayla. She's fun to hang out with and she's going to make a perfect booth vixen at the show.”

“I can't argue with that.”

“Good. Oh, that feels good.” I leaned back a little. “Nobody at WorldWired ever gives me a backrub.”

“That's a relief,” Josh said. “Because I wouldn't want to have to kill anyone.” His fingers slowed. “How are things going, anyway?”

So I told him a fish story.

 

“HOW'S YOUR OFFICE?
Do you have a fabulous view of the bay?”

It was Monday, and I was on the phone with Vida. “I don't know,” I told her. “I'm in Dallas.”

“Dallas?”

“I spent the weekend at Josh's, and when I got home this morning at six to get ready for work, there was a message on
my answering machine telling me I was booked on the eight-fifteen flight to Dallas. It was just a good thing I hadn't unpacked yet from last week.”

“What the heck are you supposed to be doing in Dallas?”

“Going to a series of seminars on the future of telecom. I'm on a break from one of them now.”

“Yuck. How long do you have to be there?” Vida sounded appalled. She didn't approve of cities that were more than a half-hour's drive from the beach.

“All week—but it's not that bad. At least I'm alone out here, so I can cheat on WorldWired a little and spend time on the phone with the guys at Fox.”

“What's going on with Fox?”

“An elaborate series of manipulations. You'd lose all respect for me if I told you.”

She didn't answer.

“Vee? I'm kidding.”

“I know. I'm just starting to get worried about you.”

“I'm fine,” I said automatically.

“Did you ever get my note?”

Note? “What—” Then I remembered. “Oh, the surfer thing.”

“The balance thing,” she said. “You've only had this job two weeks and your life is totally out of balance already.”

“It is not,” I told her. “It's just full. And rich. It's full and rich. And diverse.” I had a suspicion I wasn't convincing her, so I stopped.

“Do me a favor,” she said. “Every now and then, just to humor me, stop what you're doing and breathe, okay?”

“Breathe?” I was pretty sure I did that fairly regularly.

I heard her take a slow breath, then release it. “A count of five breathing in, and a count of five breathing out.”

I assumed this was an instruction. “Five and five. Got it.”

“Oh, Becks.”

We said good-bye and I went back into the seminar, where I sat in front of my laptop and completely tuned out the speaker. Was Vida right? Was I getting too wrapped up in the new job? Ever since my last layoff, all I'd wanted was to get too wrapped up in a new job. But that had been before I'd taken on Vladima. And before I'd…before…well…

Before Josh.

If Vida was right, I needed some sort of tool to help me keep things in balance. I feigned attention in the general direction of the speaker and opened a new file on the computer. I titled it “My Balance Sheet” and began naming the columns.
WorldWired
,
General to-do
,
Vladima
, and
Friends
. Then I wrestled with myself about the fifth column.
Boyfriend
. No. Backspace.
Relationship
. No. Backspace. Finally, I admitted the truth and simply typed
Josh
.

Then I started filling it in. The WorldWired list was fairly straightforward. Show up at meetings this week in Dallas, show up in the office next week and see what they'd throw at me. That, and the items from last week's uncompleted to-do list of research. Oh, and figure out what exactly I was supposed to be doing in this job.

The general list would be boring things like paying bills on time and not forgetting to go to the dentist. That could wait.

The Vladima list was potentially endless. Finalize all the ComixCon plans—that could be broken into several dozen sub-tasks. Successfully negotiate with Fox—there were probably another fifteen phone calls for that one. Then there were discussions with the printer and distributor for the
comic book, and calls to about a hundred comic shops across the country to make sure they'd stock the thing when we released it.

Yep, the V list was horrific. In fact, I realized I would be wasting valuable time just by filling in the remaining empty columns of the balance sheet.

I looked up suddenly when the people around me burst into applause at something the speaker had just announced. Damn. I had no idea what he'd said, and to be honest I just couldn't find it in myself to care about the future of telecom when I had a jillion-item to-do list for Vladima.

She is one demanding vampire.

J
oe Elliot was sending me on the road. Maybe it was because, as he explained in an e-mail, I needed to visit the various far-flung branches of the WorldWired empire in order to understand the company better, or maybe it was because my new boss just wanted to get me out from underfoot. In any case, I was racking up the frequent flyer miles.

 

“HOW'S ATLANTA?”
Josh asked.

“Peachy.”

“What are you supposed to be doing there?”

I was supposed to be learning everything there was to know about the Southeastern wireless market from the hotshot VP who owned the territory. But someone had neglected to tell Joe Elliot that said VP had just resigned. Or had Joe intended to send me on a wild goose chase? Either way, I got to the Atlanta office just in time to tag along on a lavish farewell lunch and wave bye-bye to the departing genius. I had a feeling the group would be in chaos within two weeks without him, so I made a couple of halfhearted recommenda
tions, but it wasn't worth spending my valuable phone time with Josh discussing it.

“Never mind,” I said. “What's happening with Fox?”

We'd spent the weekend between Dallas and Atlanta strategizing. Well, mostly strategizing, with only a few interludes of massive sweaty sex getting in the way of our business plans. On Monday, I'd made a series of phone calls to Chloe from various airports, but Josh had had to fly to LA for the important face-to-face meeting with our executive champion on his own.

I thought I had her convinced, and that Josh would just have to tidy up the details, because I thought I'd come up with a fairly brilliant idea. I'd told her there was going to be a monumental e-mail campaign, beginning at the grassroots level with Vladima's most fanatical followers and growing until it reached every corner of comic fandom. By the time ComixCon came around, every attendee would have at least seen the e-mail petition, even if he hadn't in fact signed it and passed it on to twelve unsuspecting friends.

And what would the petition call for? What would it demand as an inalienable right?

Why, a movie featuring Vladima, of course.

Which would give Chloe the opportunity of swooping in for the grand finale event of ComixCon and announcing Fox's intention to make the movie in direct response to the power of the geeky people.

It was a bold spin on the concept of viral marketing, and I was pretty proud of it. I'd be even more proud if it worked.

“Did she go for it?” I held my breath.

“Not only that,” Josh told me. “But I think she wants to offer you a job.”

When it rains, it pours. “I don't think I could handle another.”

“I can't believe you can handle what you've already got,” he said.

“Don't be silly. I'm fine. Now tell me every word she said.”

I could feel Josh's grin. “Becks, she thinks it's a brilliant publicity stunt and she's totally on board. Just tell me you're coming home so we can celebrate.”

“I'm coming home,” I told him.

“Good, because—”

“On Friday.”

“Friday? You have to stay in Atlanta all week?”

“No, but apparently my life won't be complete without stopping in Baton Rouge and Chicago.” At least, that's where I thought I was going. I'd have to check the itinerary lurking in my e-mail inbox again to be sure.

Josh gave me one of those heartfelt sighs. “Okay, Friday. But this weekend you're all mine.”

“Deal.” The only thing I'd have to do for WorldWired over the weekend was make sure I stopped off at home to pick up my passport. Because the following week I was scheduled for Frankfurt.

 

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING
in Germany?”

Connie's voice sounded tinny and far away. That, and annoyed.

“I'm working. How did you get this phone number?” I wasn't even sure of the hotel's name, let alone its internationally complicated phone number.

“From Josh. Did you know about Phillip?”

“Phillip?” Connie had woken me from a fairly sound stupor and I was a little fuzzy. Perhaps that had something to do with the Oktoberfest party my hosts had taken me to the evening before. It's possible they'd spent the day giving me oodles of precious information about the European markets, but I'd never remember it. Because when the meeting ended they'd encouraged me to destroy most of my brain cells in an overcrowded beer hall. I glanced at the clock. Three in the morning. I'd only been in bed an hour.

“Phillip Hastings!” Connie said sharply. “Did Vida tell you?”

Alarm bells went off in my head. And they didn't mix well with whatever I'd been drinking out of those gigantic mugs. “Tell me what?” I must have blocked out entire days of the English wedding disaster because now I couldn't remember if Connie knew about Phillip and Max or not.

“That he's coming!”

“Oh.” I sank back into my pillow. “Is that all?”

“Is that all?” Connie's words dropped like ice chips. “You knew my brother-in-law was coming for a visit and you didn't tell me?”

“Actually, I didn't know,” Not the exact date, anyway. “What's the big deal? He's a nice guy.”

“He's my
brother-in-law
!” Connie wailed. “He's going to expect to stay with us!”

Oh, I got it. “You mean he doesn't know you left Ian.”

“Finally! Now do you see why I'm upset?”

Actually, no. But I didn't dare say so. “Don't you think Ian might have mentioned the separation to him?”

“Of course not. Ian thinks this is just postwedding jitters.”

Post
wedding jitters? Ian clearly had an advanced degree in denial. “Okay, then he'll tell Phillip that. No problem.”

Connie latched on to the thought. “Do you think so? Because I'd hate for Phillip to think—or for his family to think—that after that huge wedding and everything and after they went to so much trouble with all the parties and everything—”

“Listen, Connie,” I really needed to learn the German word for “aspirin.” “If you're so worried, why don't you just move back in with Ian while Phillip visits? He can't be staying long, and it's not as if there isn't a precedent for shams where you and Ian are concerned. I mean, after that whole phony English estate wedding—right down to the fake vicar, for God's sake, and—”

And then I realized what I was saying. And who I was saying it to.

“What?”

I really needed to learn the German words for “Oh, shit.”

 

>>SHE'S NOT
speaking to me

 

I read Vida's message with no surprise.

 

<

 

>>
we're all guilty—we knew

 

It was the first time Vida and I had connected since I'd unleashed Connie's fury. I still hadn't spoken to Max, although I had gotten one terse e-mail in response to the panicked message I'd left on his machine.

Now I could at least gather a few more details from Vida.

<I keyed.

 

>>
she's mainly mad at Ian

>>
but since she already wasn't speaking to him

>>
we're caught in the crossfire

 

<

 

>>
Max says she'll get over it

 

<

 

>>
when are you coming home?

 

<

<

 

>>
if we can

>>
but don't count on it

 

I didn't.

 

SATURDAY WAS SCHEDULED
for the studio. Josh would be putting the finishing touches on the new Vladima Webisode, which would have its premier at ComixCon, and I needed to finish organizing the distribution for the first flood of Vladima comic books. Which would have been doable if I hadn't slept through the entire day.

“Did you drug me or something?”

It was six o'clock in the evening before I staggered down to the studio from Josh's loft upstairs. The place was dark, except for the dim glow of a computer screen in Josh's office. There wasn't a minion in sight.

He didn't answer, so I tried again. “Is Jeremy around? We were supposed to go over the Web promos. Have we got any stats on the e-mail circulation? Why did you let me sleep so long?”

“You've been lying to me.” Josh didn't look up from his work.

“That's what I do. I'm in marketing.” I sank into a chair. “Is there any coffee?”

“Becks.” Something in his tone got my attention. “What the hell do you think you're doing?”

“What?” I sat up with a sick feeling. Had I missed a deadline? What had I forgotten about that was now going to mean a ruined ComixCon debut? Or had Connie come by looking for blood?

Josh stood up suddenly, seemed about to say something, then just muttered and left the room.

Okay, not good. I followed him to the break room, where he started making coffee, still muttering and still not looking at me.

“I get it, Josh, I messed up. Just tell me what it is and I can fix it. Don't be angry.”

He slammed a prerelease V-mug on the counter with a crash. “Jesus Christ, Becks, I'm not angry with you!”

I blinked.

“Okay, maybe I am angry with you.” He blew out a breath and ran his hands through his hair. “What the hell is going on with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you told me you were getting plenty of sleep on the road, which was clearly a lie, and then you spent the whole night last night thrashing around and talking in your sleep.”

“I talked?”

He nodded grimly, and I had the horrible feeling he was about to tell me what I'd said. What could I have said?

“You're fired,” he told me.

“I'm
what
?”

He shook his head. “That's what you kept saying—‘You're fired' and ‘Now boarding,' and a bunch of other gibberish I couldn't understand. What the hell is going on? What are you doing all day that's giving you nightmares?”

I swallowed. “I'm just doing my job.”

His expression hardened. “Well, I don't like what it's doing to you.”

I felt cold suddenly, and sounded it when I answered him. “Well, forgive me if I disturbed your sleep last night.”

He moved toward me, his voice harsh. “This isn't about my sleep. This is about your sleep—or lack of it. And about the way your hands have been shaking for the past week. And about how you don't seem to want anything other than caffeine and alcohol these days. When was the last time you had a decent meal?”

“Stop attacking me!”

“I'm not attacking you, I'm worried about you! Can't you tell the difference?”

“Well, who asked you to worry about me? I'm fine! I'm a big girl and I can take care of myself. And if I'm so hard to be around these days, I'll just get out of here.”

I spun around for the door and would have made a seriously dramatic exit if I hadn't gotten dizzy and stumbled.

Josh caught me by the elbows. “For Christ's sake, Becks, you're a wreck. I know you want to think you can do everything, but you can't keep living out of suitcases and doing God knows what for WorldWired, and then expect to come back here and have the energy to run everything like you've been off relaxing at a spa.”

He forced me into a chair and I waited for the room to stop spinning. “Josh, I may be tired these days, but I haven't been dropping the ball. We're completely on schedule for ComixCon, and—”

“Fuck ComixCon! This isn't about ComixCon!” He brought his fist down on the table.

I jumped up. “Stop yelling at me!”

“I'm not yelling!” he yelled.

We glared at each other for a moment, then he took a deep breath. “Christ, Becks, I'm just trying to tell you I'm worried about you. If you want to keep doing whatever you're doing for WorldWired, that's your choice. But if it means you can't help out with Vladima anymore, just say so. I'd rather deal with that than deal with you killing yourself.”

Suddenly he was the one who looked exhausted.

“Josh, don't worry. I'm fine. Everything's fine. I—”

He grabbed my hand. “Will you please stop saying that?
Would you please stop telling me you're fine and everything's fine, and it will all be
fine
!”

“Josh, I'm sorry.” I didn't know what else to say. “I just didn't want you to think you had to…”

“To what? To worry about you? To try to make things easier for you? To help you?”

I looked at him, and what I saw made me want to kick myself. “I'm sorry,” I said again, and not just as a reflex this time.

“I know.” He shook his head. “I love you, Becks, but you're a damn difficult woman to take care of.”

I nodded. “I don't like being taken care of.”

“No shit.” He looked at me.

“Hang on a minute.” Something just caught up with me. “Can we rewind a few lines? Did you just say you love me?”

He met my eyes. “God help me.”

The room started to spin again. Or maybe it wasn't the room. Maybe it was the whole world. So I took the only sensible action I could. I grabbed the man who stood in front of me and held on as if my life depended on it.

Maybe it did.