“Are you happy now? Did you get what you wanted?” Oscar asked. His jaw was clamped, his entire body so tightly wound it hurt to look at him.
Her heart sank, her eyes on her fidgety hands. “I’m sorry.”
He scoffed. “Did you get what you wanted? Look at me, damn it.”
Jillian met his eyes, fighting the immediate flinch. She’d never seen him this mad. “I’m sorry.” She let her head fall back. It was somehow too heavy to hold up.
Why was she acting like the wounded party when it was his presentation she had ruined? Why’d she look like she was exactly thirty seconds away from bursting into tears when it was he who should be crying? He stood up and started pacing to avoid looking at her and her sad face.
That was the best pitch he’d had in the four years they’d been working together. Four years in which they’d only produced her scripts. The one time he had something good, she was late to a pitch meeting? No way that was an accident.
Oscar turned to her. “You’re not even going to come up with some kind of explanation?”
She looked up, pushing her blonde shoulder-length braids back. “I… It’s like I told them. There was crazy traffic. Oscar, I don’t think it went that badly. There’s still hope. You can’t just… give up before they even get back to us.”
“First of all, were you even in the same room? They hated it. They hated it because you were late, and you messed it up. Second, I think I’ve been in the game long enough to be able to tell when a pitch goes well. And this one didn’t.”
She sighed. “I’m sorry.”
“I hope you’re at least a little happy, cause we’ll keep making your stuff. Congratulations, Jill, the spotlight remains yours alone.”
Jillian looked up at him. When had he become so bitter? “You know, I always thought of it as our stuff. Every script I wrote was better because of your editing. Every one of them. And I always thought of them as ours.”
She took out a tub of her hand lotion and started massaging her hands as she fought back the tears. “I’m not competing with you, Oscar. You can have the entire spotlight.”
A wave of embarrassment hit him. Of course, she hadn’t planned this. She was not the kind of person who did that. He’d lost it all because of stupid childhood insecurities. She was not his small sister, and they were not competing for his parents’ approval and affection.
Oscar collapsed onto the seat next to him, facing her across the huge boardroom table. Her face was hidden by her braids, her eyes focused on her hands as she massaged them gently. He cursed himself for not picking up on it sooner. She was self-soothing. She only did it when she was extremely anxious.
“I’m sorry I lost it. Of course, you didn’t plan it. I know that.”
It was Jillian’s turn to scoff sarcastically. “How do you know?”
“I know you.”
“Hmmmh…. You didn’t know me five minutes ago when you basically accused me of sabotaging your career? Interesting.”
“I was disappointed and angry, and I took it out on you. I’m sorry.” He lowered his voice, trying to communicate his earnestness. “You don’t have a mean or vindictive bone in your body. I should know.”
She didn’t smile like he’d hoped, her eyes remaining on her hands as she clasped and unclasped them.
Oscar got up and went to her side, taking the office chair next to her. “I’m really sorry. Please forgive me.”
“Are we going to have to go through this again when they call back?”
“No. I promise.” He took her hands in his, rubbing them gently. Her seat slid on its wheels, so they were facing each other. “If we don’t get it, that’s life. It happens. We’ll try other producers. Whatever happens, we’re good. I promise.”
She swallowed deeply and nodded. “Okay.”
They were far from okay. He knew it. She had to know it. Fear of losing what they had filled him with a desperation to hold her. “Do you want a hug? Cause I could really use one?”
Jillian wanted that hug. She needed them to get back to a good place. She looked up at him, meeting his eyes. “Yes.”
Oscar reached for her, his arms going around her. He cursed the stupid boardroom chairs. If they were at his place or hers, she’d be in his lap. He stood up, drawing her up with him, his arms going around her. He needed more contact.
“I’m really sorry,” he whispered in her ear.
“It’s okay,” she whispered back, sounding stronger, her arms tightening around his middle.
He sighed with relief. They would be okay. They would.
“Do you want to go to mine or yours?”
Jillian pulled away, her face falling, and he already knew. “I’m really beat, I just want to go home.”
Alone. She left that part unspoken. Alone. Oscar heard it, though, loud and clear. She might as well have yelled it through a megaphone.
“Okay,” he said even though nothing was okay. “I’ll call you.”
She nodded, then leaned in and kissed him. “Bye.”
Oscar hit pause, grateful for his phone’s interruption. He’d watched that scene four times, and he still didn’t know what was happening. His mind was everywhere but on screen.
“Hey, what’s up?” Lisa, a friend and colleague, asked, sounding nothing like her usual chipper self.
“Nothing’s up here, what’s up with you?”
“Jill isn’t answering her phone, and after what happened today, I’m worried.”
“She’s taking it a little hard, but she’ll be okay. She bounces back fast.”
“She hasn’t seen her dad in twenty years. I don’t think she’s going to be bouncing back fast from this. You should have seen her. I swear I thought she was going to pass out or have a heart attack. I can’t believe she even did that presentation.”
“What?” He barked out. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh… oh… fuck.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Look, it’s not for me to say.”
“You’ve already said it. Too late. What’s going on?”
“Oscar, I can’t. Just ask her.”
“Lisa.”
“I can’t. Just ask her and don’t tell her I told you. Please?”
“Okay.” Oscar was already stepping into his shoes when he hung up.
Jillian put her phone on silent. Constantly ignoring Lisa’s calls was getting harder. She knew Lisa was just concerned, and she would call back; she just didn’t have the energy for words now.
Her head swung to her door. Who was knocking on her door at this hour? Couldn’t the universe just let her have one evening, just one evening of peace and quiet?
She dragged herself to the door.
“Hey,” Oscar said, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Can I come in?”
She stepped back to let him in purely out of years of ingrained politeness.
He took his shoes off and walked in. He placed a brown takeout bag on the coffee table, then dropped onto the couch where an afghan was spread. She joined him, spreading the afghan over herself. She opened the package, dividing the food packs between them. Loaded fries, her favourite comfort food.
“Thanks,” she said, smiling at him.
She disappeared into the kitchen and returned with wet hands, a box of juice and two glasses.
They ate in silence, watching the comedy show she had paused.
“Can I stay over, please?” He asked as he cleared the table.
He was up to something. He had this look about him like he wanted to talk about something. She wanted to ask, but she also didn’t. “Yeah. Stay.”
He came back and gave her that sad look, like he wanted to hug her.
“Okay, just say it. What is it?” Jillian asked.
He sat on the couch, his leg folded under him, so he was facing her. “What really happened today?”
She shook her head. “You mean other than me trying to screw up your career so I’d get all the glory?”
“You told me your dad was dead.”
“My father, not my dad. And he’s dead to me.”
She got up and moved away from him. They eyed each other in silence.
“Why’d you tell me he was dead?”
“Because he’s dead to me. Are the words I’m speaking not in basic English?”
He stood up and walked to her. She stepped back and found her back against the wall.
Oscar caressed her cheek, his voice soft. “Whatever it is, you know you can tell me, right?”
She shook her head.
“No judgment from me, I promise.”
Jillian walked to the couch and draped herself in the afghan like a shield.
“He used to get into these rages and beat all of us. My mom, my sister, and I. Everyone. I haven’t spoken to him since I left home.” She looked into the distance, past his spot, facing her on the couch. “I haven’t seen him in almost as many years. He’s dead to me.”
Oscar pulled her to him, embracing her. “I’m sorry.”
She took a deep breath. “That’s the whole sordid story. I don’t handle seeing him well.”
“Then it’s good he’s dead to you.” He rubbed her back.
She climbed onto his lap, her head on his shoulder. He slipped his hands under the afghan and held her close, running his hands over her in what he hoped was soothing to her.
He kissed the side of her head. “I got you. I love you.”
She relaxed into him, warming his heart. He could stay here forever. Jillian in his arms was all he needed.
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