Page 86 of Beyond the Bright Lights

“Yeah, because Black don’t crack.”

“Jealous.”

“What’s bugging you?”

I sigh and set down my chewed-up pencil. Apparently, staring at the paperwork won’t magically fill it out.

“I’m rethinking Jonesboro.”

She rolls her eyes so hard I’m pretty sure I saw her shoulders roll too.

“We’ve talked about this.”

“I know. But—”

“No buts. Lana, honey, we’ve had this worked out since the day that man walked through that door. I’ll open the bar Sunday, Wednesday, and Thursday and Emily is going to close those days. She'll open Friday and Saturday, so I can be here at night when it’s busy. She’s been training for weeks now. She’s ready. Plus, she’s eager to boss people around.”

I snort at that. I hired Emily a year ago. She’s about ten years younger than Ginger and me. She left her stressful marketing job in Little Rock to move closer to her family in Silo. She bartended and waitressed in college, so she was an immediate hire. She’s one of my best employees, so when she asked me about a managerial position, I was all for it.

“What about Monday and Tuesday?”

“Those are our least busy days. I keep telling you we should close on those days.”

I open my mouth in horror, but Ginger cuts off my protest.

“Don’t play dumb. Jesse manages Monday and Tuesday since we’re both off. He’ll keep working Monday and Tuesday, open to close. Stop looking for excuses and go!”

It’s my turn to roll my eyes, which amuses her to no end.

“That’s what I thought.”

Ginger gives me a victorious look. She thinks she’s won this battle.

“Let me present new evidence.”

Ginger waves her hand in front of her. “Please approach the bench.”

“Instead of staying up there the entire time, I’ll only visit two days a week.” Ginger blinks at me, waiting for me to explain. I sigh. “Mylan is the one who first suggested it and I think it’s best. I’m worried about being on set every day, all day.”

“You’ve been doing it for the past month. What’s changed?” Realization hits and she narrows her eyes at me. “Are you worried about being on set or being around Mylan?”

“Both?”

“Banana,” Ginger warns.

I hold out my hand, not to plead the fifth but to stop her whining, so I can explain.

“You know this is hard for me. If there’s any hope for this . . . relationship with Mylan to work out, then I need to take it slowly. Slower. Right now, it’s intense. It’s terrifying. This past month, I’ve had the option to leave and come here to the bar or to my apartment, my own space. I need a reprieve from the onslaught of painful memories tied with this movie, and I worry I won’t have that there, on set with him, or in his trailer, or in his hotel. I don’t want to get burnt out.”

I also worry about how my not being there will affect Mylan's sobriety, but I have to trust him. I have to trust that he isn't relying on me.

Ginger stares at me, well, sort of. She’s staring past me in think mode. She always disappears from reality when mulling something over. After at least a minute of hard thinking, she drops her shoulders in defeat. “The jury has reached a verdict.”

She pauses (for dramatics).

“Reprieve granted.” She opens her arms and I fall into them. “It’s a good plan,” she says in my hair. We hug for a while before she pulls away. “I’m proud of you.”

I laugh, wiping away a lone tear.

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