Page 43 of Director's Cut

Clarissa steps in from down the hall, smiling at me shyly as she approaches. “Hi, Valeria.”

I get up and hug her. Clarissa is the second assistant Trish has had since she signed me, and so far so good. She’s a bit less of a jokester than her predecessor, Hope, but I always respect someone who answers emails promptly and uses emojis. She was brand-new during the August emails debacle, and I honestly wish I could do more to show her I’m not usually that much of an ass. She leads me back down the hall, asking how my day is, complimenting my blouse, and then giving me a couple seconds of respectful silence. My kind of human.

Trish is at her desk when I enter. “I didn’t know you wore glasses.”

I push the glasses up onto the bridge of my nose and take a seat. Clarissa closes the door behind us. “Yeah, forgot my contacts.”

Trish holds my gaze a moment longer than she needs to. “Well, I’ll remember to put you forward for hot-librarian roles.”

My fingertips practically go numb clenching my hands as I wait for the other shoe to drop, for her to realize exactly what I’m up to and give me a professional lashing.

I think for a moment about bullshitting Trish, buttering her up with small talk, but stop myself. I’m too smart for that and so is Trish. “So about the HBO pilot…”

Trish takes a deep breath. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

This is my one chance. If I don’t explain myself, I’ll never get Trish’s blessing. I can’t risk burning the bridge with Trish, even if I don’t plan to come back.

So this better work. “I…” I swallow. “You said that if I wanted to transition into academia, I could. Maeve and I have been connecting more, and even she thinks I’d make a great professor. Since Oakley didn’t get into Sundance, I want to keep going down this new path. I’ll finish the Goodbye, Richard! movies and see out all my current obligations, but I don’t want to do anything new.”

And I cannot say just how painful it is to have Trish stare at me like I’ve just told her I believe the earth is flat and I’m voting Republican in the next election. Every ounce of confidence I had has completely slipped away. And Trish can tell. Her arms are crossed over her chest.

“Val, I don’t think we heard the same things last we talked about your career. This HBO show isn’t just a quality-acting role. Did they not tell you? You’d be directing several episodes. It’s Emmy bait, a real next step in your directing career. It’s about a fully formed character whose sexuality is second to her work. Exactly what you said you wanted when you first signed with me. And you want to turn that down?”

I pause, letting that sink in. Emmy bait. Directing. When I was having my breakdown, this was the kind of gig I thought I would never be able to get. That I’d need Oakley to win awards at festivals to get. It’s a dream opportunity.

Possibly, anyway. What happens if I take this role? I leave Charlie to watch over my house, drown in French women for the next couple of months? Come back, do press, maybe get nominated for an Emmy, do more press, get more questions about being gay? Maeve will fade away. She has just as many obligations as I do, and long distance never works.

“Yes,” I say. “I want to turn it down. I just need a way to make sure Leonard Ballard isn’t upset. I don’t want him to drop the funding for the new Goodbye, Richard!”

Trish shifts in her seat. “You need a good reason. Clearly it’s not that you’re taking on some other, better offer.” She looks up at me, her gaze burning. “Why are you doing this?”

A tingling sensation creeps up my neck. “Academia is where I want to be now.”

“Even when you were crying to me after that interview, it was about directing. You would never—” And then she realizes. “Is this about a girl?”

“Trish, I—I’m not trying to be ungrateful about this directing gig. I just can’t leave town right now. I’ll get back on track as soon as I have more time to try to—”

“Who is she?” Trish asks, cutting right through my impassioned plea.

God, I can’t even lie. Trish knows Maeve and would know the moment things became serious. This was such a terrible idea. I look at the door, wondering if I could run to the bathroom and pretend I was having an IBS episode in order to leave the building.

“Maeve Arko.”

Trish’s earlier stare was nothing compared to the look she’s giving me now.

“Who?”

I hunch into myself like a fucking child. “Maeve. We’ve really connected over the past couple of weeks. It turns out she’s not an asshole. She’s—” I take a deep breath, forcing myself to look Trish in the eye. If Maeve is worth fighting for, it’s time to start fighting. “Things feel different with her. This gig will only last a semester, and my best chance to really explore this is here. I have to stick around LA for a little while longer. I know it’s stupid, but—”

Trish replies before I can even finish my speech.

“You’re taking her to the Oscars.”

It hits me in stages. One, Trish is okay with this. I get to stay with Maeve with Trish’s approval.

But then I get it.

What Trish is saying implies that Maeve is my girlfriend. And she definitely is not. My heartbeat picks up again.

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